It Was a Good Ride
by Teprac S
Summary: Sequal to Sins of the Past. Bounty hunter EJ Thompson returns for Vin. Rating for language. Not a death fic believe it or not. Please Review.
1. Chapter 1

This here is an amateur publication by amateur writers written for and published solely for the enjoyment of fans of the television series THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN (now gone to its undeserved reward), and is not intended to infringe on the copyright of CBS nor anyone else. The story is copyright 1999 by Jesse Syring and Jennye Jackman. The fanzine it came from is called Four Corners a one-shot Magnificent Seven fanzine, published by Jim & Melody Rondeau, 1853 Fallbrook Ave., San Jose CA 95130-1727. The publishers do need material for their on-going western fanzine, BUFFALO WINGS; please send all submissions to them.

IT WAS A GOOD RIDE

THE RETURN OF E. J. THOMPSON

by Jennye Jackman & Jessie Syring

PROLOGUE

Larabee reined in his black horse in at the Tascosa cemetery. He dismounted, leaving the horse ground tied, and walked through the rusted iron gate. It didn't take long to find the fresh grave and the carefully carved wooden board they had erected. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his sandy brown hair. He heard a horse behind him, but didn't look around even as he heard boots crunching in the gravel. His lips compressed into a thin line as he read...

HERE LIES VIN TANNER 

HUNG FOR MURDER 

MAY GOD REST HIS SOUL

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PART ONE

Just two weeks earlier:

Whistling softly, Ezra Standish stepped out of the early afternoon sun into the darker interior of Murphy's saloon. He stepped up to the elegantly carved bar and slapped a hand on its scarred surface.

"A glass of your best, barkeep," he said cheerfully.

"What's the occasion?" called Vin Tanner from somewhere to his left. "You just find out a rich aunt died?" Ezra smirked at the former bounty hunter. "Very funny." He accepted a shot glass from the tall, sallow-faced bartender and walked up the steps to the table where Tanner and Chris Larabee, the seven's unofficial leader, sat. "In case you gentlemen haven't realized, it is Saturday."

Tanner and Larabee exchanged glances, then the black-dressed gunslinger asked, "Is that supposed to be something special?"

Ezra flipped the tails of his red jacket out of the way before he sat down, then meticulously adjusted his sleeves and the frilly white shirt underneath. "Surely you are aware that there are a sizable number of Texas cowboys in town, freshly paid this afternoon after delivering a herd to the James Ranch. Also, the surrounding ranches tend to pay their hands on Saturdays." The gambler smiled contentedly. "Gentlemen, there are sheep in need of shearing."

Larabee lost his smile. "Things are going to be dangerous enough around here without any of your games, " he warned.

Ezra held up an empty hand. "Nothing unlawful, I assure you. Just honest poker."

"That's a funny word; coming from you," drawled Tanner, as he brushed the edges of his thickening moustache aside.

The Southerner glowered at him, then met Larabee's piercing gaze. "Gentlemen, you have my word on it. Nothing even questionably dishonest."

"All right," said Larabee. "But if you've lied to me, I'll lock you up for a month and take away your cards." His half-smile and wink were not comforting. "For your own good."

"I'll remember that."

Ezra's words were lost on Larabee's back as he rose and walked out of the saloon. Tanner couldn't hide a grin at the "loathsome curmudgeon" Ezra mumbled into his shot glass.

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Finally alone again, Buck Wilmington, lady's man extra-ordinaire, settled back into the steaming tub and closed his eyes, enjoying the heat of the water and imagining the grime of the week floating away. After a few moments, he fumbled in the water for the bar of soap and began working it into a lather on his chest hair. The curtain behind him moved and someone entered the bathing room.

Buck took a deep breath. "I told you. I've paid for two tubs of hot water and I'm not done yet," he said in a more than slightly annoyed tone. He glanced back over his right shoulder and froze, staring into the barrel of a revolver. He raised his gaze to the face of the man holding it. The man's dark eyes glinted evilly under his heavy brow as he smiled. "Good afternoon, Mr. Wilmington."

"Well, look what the cat dragged in. I heard someone put you out of our misery down in Purgatorio. Shame it wasn't true," Buck snarled as he tumed slightly, his expression dark.

"The feeling's mutual," the well-dressed stranger replied. "Get up, nice and easy. We're going for a little ride."

Buck rose from the tub, dripping water and soap bubbles. "You going to at least give me something to wear?" he called back over his shoulder. The stranger tossed him a towel. "Oh, that's good," he said. "I ride out of here in nothing but a towel, someone's gonna notice. I think that'd ruin whatever plans you have."

"And then," the man said smoothly as one eyebrow raised, "it might work out just right."

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As JD. walked out of the barber shop, he self-consciously ran a hand over his clean-shaven cheeks and breathed in the pungent aroma of the bay rum shaving lotion. He tipped his hat at two young ladies passing by. The giggle the younger one hid behind her white-gloved hand made him smile. The young sheriff stepped down onto the street to catch up to them, but an odd noise from behind the buildings caught his attention.

He caught a glimpse of a light gray horse he recognized as Buck's. Then he saw a man dressed in red being forced down into the bed of a buckboard. JD. quickly realized it was Buck, wearing only his long underwear and a gag. He slid his right-hand revolver out of its holster and moved carefully between the buildings.

Buck caught sight of him and renewed his struggles. Two men jumped on him, the larger of the two brought his fist down twice, and the struggle was over. JD. stopped, unsure what to do next, and an ominous click in his ear settled that argument. "If you make a sound, your friend will die most unpleasantly," a smooth, deep voice said softly. He glanced over his shoulder at the well-dressed man holding a gun on him. JD. let his own revolver hang from his trigger finger as he raised his hands. The gunman relieved him of his weapons, then gestured for him to join Buck.

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Nathan Jackson strode along the boardwalk headed to Mrs. Potter's store. Buck and JD. had promised to help him set up a glassed in cabinet that had arrived for storing his growing horde of medical supplies and instruments. The gift was from a rancher whose life he had saved, sent in care of the general store. The black healer was sure he and JD. could manage it, but Buck had offered to help. If he wasn't busy.

Smiling, Nathan walked into the saloon, pausing inside the batwing doors to look around. He saw Vin Tanner leaning on the bar, cradling a shot of whiskey in his hands, and joined him.

"Have you seen Buck and JD.?"

The hunter shrugged, making his leather frontier jacket creak softly. "Not since lunch. I'm sure they'll show soon enough." He reached out and poured Nathan a drink.

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Buck and JD. blinked into the sudden light as the door to the adobe hut opened. Four of their captors came in, two carrying plates of beans and canteens of water, the others with weapons.

The leader came in as the men with the food removed their gags. "Hope you're not too uncomfortable, but this is the best we can do for the moment"

"Take off these handcuffs and I'll show you just how good it feels," offered Buck.

The man smiled and shook his head. "I don't think so, Mr. Wilmington. My last encounter with your group proved I can't trust you. I want to make sure you and Mr. Dunne stay put." He removed a gold watch from the pocket of his vest, flipped it open, and glanced at the numbers. "In the mean time, I have an appointment in Four Corners. My men will see to your needs."

He slipped his watch back into its pocket and turned to leave. Buck swallowed a mouthful of pasty, overcooked beans and asked caustically, "They gonna take care of all our needs?" He shrugged, shaking the chains that bound his hands behind him.

The bounty hunter stopped in the doorway and half-turned, one eyebrow raised in amusement he smiled. "If that's how you want it." After a moment of cold silence he said to the man standing by the door, "Make the necessary adjustments, but do not take any chances."

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"-full house, gentlemen," Ezra declared, laying down his cards for the others to see. "Deuces over kings." The one cowboy who had stayed in for the hand swore and threw his cards down into the middle of the table. "Three nines don't look so pretty now," he grumbled.

"Luck of the draw, my friend," drawled Ezra, raking in the pot. "Another hand?"

"Not for me," said another cowboy, rising and collecting the few coins still in front of him. "You nearly cleaned me out."

Leaning comfortably against the bar, Tanner watched the cowboy leave. He hadn't been able to hear the words over the drunken celebration and poor piano music, but the man didn't seem angry. In fact, he looked old enough to have experienced the dangers of the trail towns many times before. Still, Tanner watched him exit the saloon out of the corner of his eye.

Larabee and Nathan strode into the saloon, weaving their way past several drunken Texas cowboys and brightly clad saloon girls. A few mutters followed their path, but they ignored it. The black man ordered a shot of whisky while Larabee joined Tanner at the far end of the bar.

Tanner nodded, acknowledging Chris' arrival, but his eyes never settled in one place long. Larabee knew it was the only outward sign of unease Tanner displayed. Though Tanner was less than two feet away, Larabee nearly had to shout to make himself heard. "You look as nervous as a cat in a room full of rattlesnakes, my friend." Tanner fixed Larabee with a dark glare but didn't answer. Larabee took a sip from his whiskey then asked, "How're things here?"

Tanner shrugged, accepting a refill from the bartender. "Couple of fights. Nothin' major yet."

"Let's hope it stays that way." Larabee turned, resting his elbows on the bar as he leaned back to study the crowd. "Jail's just about full now with all the post drive celebrations."

Tanner nodded and sipped his whiskey. Larabee turned back to the shot the bartender offered him. Neither noticed a long-haired cowboy barely out of his teens get up and swagger drunkenly to the bar. He stopped near Nathan, who was talking to one of the saloon girls.

"Hey!" The cowboy grabbed Nathan's left arm and tried to pull him around. "Who let you in here? You ain't got no right bein' in here with good folks like us!" The loud, slurred words carried, and silence fell in the saloon. People shuffled nervously and cleared space around the two men while the bartender hastily began removing the glasses. Words like those too often led to gunplay.

Nathan didn't move. "Didn't we just fight a war so I could drink where I wanted?" he asked calmly. 

"Depends which side you was on."

An approving sound rippled through the bar. Tanner tossed the remainder of his whiskey down and asked, "Ain't this just about where we came in?"

Larabee moved slightly away from the bar to watch the action, moving his black duster back from the ivory handled revolver he wore. Setting down his shot glass, Tanner hooked his thumbs in his belt near the sawed-off rifle he preferred to a pistol. Ezra threw in his hand and pushed his chair back.

Nathan slowly turned around, hands spread well away from his sides. "I don't want no trouble," he said, his voice calm and even. Nathan could see the fear and confusion in the boy's bloodshot eyes. He'd expected the black man to take the first swing, now he was committed to an action the alcohol and his so-called friends had gotten him into. He couldn't back down and couldn't continue.

Suddenly the cowboy sent a fist flying toward Nathan's face, but it never landed. A large hand moving with the speed of a striking snake, caught the cowboy's arm and spun him around. The cowboy found himself staring up into a homely, coldly impassive face.

"God tells us to love thy neighbor," Josiah Sanchez said in a low, hard voice, not releasing his grip. "Brother, I'd advise you to find a quiet place to contemplate His laws."

His tone was more a command than a suggestion, enforced by the increasing pressure of his steel-like grip. Wincing in pain, the cowboy managed to squeak out words of agreement. The former preacher released his arm, and the boy fled into the night. The large man then stepped to the bar near Nathan.

"Whiskey," he told the bartender, "and another for my friends."

His broad gesture took in Nathan first, then the others. As the bartender poured more drinks, the activities began returning to normal.

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Nathan put away the last of his beer as Ezra finished up with his last lingering opponent. The drunken cowboy stood unsteadily and picked up his badly beaten hat. He stood beside the table for a long moment, then picked up the cold stub of his cigar. He turned and headed slowly for the door. The man walked toward a table but didn't adjust in time and bumped into it. The glasses on the table rattled noisily together and he put his fingers to his lips and said, "Shh." The man straightened his vest and hat, then being extra careful not to stagger into any of the remaining tables that blocked his way, he left the saloon.

"Guess that does it for the evening, gents, "the barkeep said as he approached the table to clear away the glassware. Ezra nodded and gathered up his winnings.

"Yup," Nathan agreed as he stretched and rose from his chair. He had spent the previous hours observing the card players that had come and gone from Ezra's table. He was quite sure there would be a large number of sore heads returning in the morning when the whisky wore off and they realized just how much they had lost. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ezra."

"Good evening, Mr. Jackson."

Nathan walked out onto the porch of the saloon and breathed in the crisp autumn air. There were few people on the street at this late hour. He strode down the walk and stepped onto the street. There was a groan in the alley. The healer entered the dark alleyway, intent on giving aid and was brought up short as the cold barrel of a gun poked him in the ribs. He froze.

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Ezra sorted and counted his cards, examining each of them for unusual wear. "Hillbillies," he growled under his breath as he confirmed a suspicion he had by discovering faint comer nicks on all of the aces. Ezra gathered up the cards, stalked over to the saloon's pot bellied stove, opened it, and chucked the cards inside. He walked over to the bar and ordered a snifter of brandy. He held the bowl of the snifter in the palm of his hand, swirling the dark amber liquid gently as it was warmed by the temperature of his hand. He sipped and savored the drink as long as he dared under the tired gaze of the barkeep. "Good evening," Ezra said finally and took up his hat.

Ezra exited out the back of the saloon into the narrow alleyway. His ears adjusted to the darkness long before his eyes. Hearing a muffled impact, followed by a grunt of pain, he hesitated in the darkened doorway waiting for his eyes to adjust.

"The darky's had enough," a whispered voice said.

Hearing the distinct sound of a solid impact and fall of a body to the ground, Ezra carefully ventured into the alleyway. He could see a bulky figure leaning over a fallen figure. He drew his gun, stepped forward and jammed it firmly into the cowboy's ribs. At this distance he recognized Nathan leaning against the wall. The second body lying in the dirt was still. "Mr. Jackson," Ezra said, "are you in need of further assistance?"

As Nathan began to rise, the cowboy flew into action. One hand swept back knocking Ezra's gun into the darkness, the other a fist landing squarely with great force on his vulnerable ribs. Ezra was left gasping on the ground.

Nathan heard the distinct sound of a knife coming out of its scabbard. He rose up in a crouch trying to judge where the attack would be coming from. A moment later Nathan realized the second man had unexpectedly rejoined the fight. He felt the bite of the blade between his arm and ribs as he sprang sideways, knocking the knife wielder against the neighboring wall. There was a muffled gasp as they hit hard, and Nathan's adversary slid limply down the wall.

Ezra looked up to see a silhouette rising up over him. For a split second he thought it was Nathan, then he felt a thick-fingered hand grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him roughly to his feet. He felt and heard the fabric of his favorite shirt give under the stress. Ezra pushed back against the tom fabric and twitched the derringer into his hand. Placing it firmly under the man's chin, he pulled back the hammer. "Let be, sir," he said, his voice cold.

He felt the man freeze, than slowly release his hold, obviously realizing death was watching him. "Retreat into the shadows lest I am forced to bring this discussion to a permanent end," Ezra said, slowly guiding the man's chin around toward the alley's entrance with the pressure of the derringer. "And take your lackey with you."

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"Now, Ezra, you quit fussing. Those bandages have to be tight," Nathan said as he firmly pulled another strip of white cloth around the gambler's ribs.

"I can hardly breathe as it is and now you want to make it harder," the Southerner protested.

Nathan smiled widely, then asked softly, "Remember your shoulder? Trust me." A dubious Ezra quit protesting while Nathan finished his bandaging. "Now see, that's better, isn' it?"

Ezra took a tentative deep breath and was pleasantly surprised. "Thank you, Mr. Jackson, now could you hand me my shirt and jacket?"

Nathan picked up the shirt and held it out. Ezra's face fell when he saw the rent and bloodstained cloth. "Oh bother," he said under his breath.

"Don't fret. I was planning on having it fixed for you, being as you came to my rescue and all."

Ezra examined the shirt. He sighed heavily and said finally, "Don' bother, Mr. Jackson. It's time this old soldier was retired. It served me well."

Nathan went to his trunk and removed a white cotton shirt. "Wear this. It's not as soft as what you're used to, but it is serviceable."

He gladly accepted the shirt and Nathan's aid putting it on. He bent forward to examine his dirt encrusted pants and came up short as his bindings constricted. He groaned and said, "I have had the sudden sense of deja-vu."

"Pardon?" Nathan questioned as he turned toward the door, having heard the latch click.

"These bandages suddenly remind me of a corset," Ezra said. Then he too saw the door opening.

A pair of gentlemen bearing drawn revolvers stepped quietly into the room. "And may I say that particular shade of purple suited you very well. It set off the color of your eyes," the larger of the two said with a toothy smile.

Ezra paled as he recognized one of their adversaries. He was about to make a move for his weapon when he saw what was holding Nathan immobile. The second man was twirling a certain bowler hat on one finger.

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Josiah stood by the open church door, greeting each of his small flock as they departed. His heart was light from the joy that filled the patched up building. Someday, he thought, there would be an organ played along with the singing. He stepped back inside and was stacking the hymnals when he saw a familiar red jacket with black trim. It belonged to Ezra, but he knew Ezra hadn't been within the walls of this building in a very long time, and definitely not for church services.

He picked up the battered and dirty jacket and carried it to the back where his room was. As he passed the confessional, Josiah heard the ominous click of a gun being cocked. He turned to face the closed curtain of the booth. "Friend, there's no need ..." Josiah started.

Before he could finish, he heard a vaguely familiar male voice from behind the door, "I confess, priest, that if you do not come with me quietly, the man whose jacket you carry will be dead before you or I leave this room." The curtain of the confessional was pushed aside and a well-dressed cowboy stepped out, his well cared for Army revolver held steady.

"Thompson? EJ. Thompson?" Josiah questioned as he slowly raised his hands into the air.

"Oh, bravo."

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Larabee strode toward the restaurant as Tanner emerged, pulling the door shut behind him. They met at the hitching rail. "No one's seen Buck since yesterday," said Tanner, leaning on the rail.

Larabee frowned. "What about Nathan?"

Tanner was silent for a long moment. "He's gone, too. Last anyone saw him was last night, with Ezra." Larabee looked at him. "JD.'s not at the jail. What the hell is going on here?" he demanded. "Go wake up Ezra and find out what he knows while I check the livery."

Tanner watched as the black-dressed man headed across the street at an angle toward the livery stable. He was still wondering if splitting up was such a good idea when Larabee disappeared into the barn. Tanner shrugged off his feelings of unease and started toward the hotel.

Larabee moved into the shade of the barn and along the aisle. His black gelding stuck its head over the stall door, snorting softly. Of the other horses he should know on sight, only Tanner's bald-faced brown was present. He heard a board creak overhead, and loose hay fell from the loft above him. He looked up, his hand going to the butt of his gun as he moved toward the ladder.

A twig snapped. Something heavy smashed into the back of his head and everything went black.

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Tanner was becoming more apprehensive since Chris's disappearance from the stable. The strange thing was that nothing was out of place. Larabee's black was still in its stall and all his tack still hung where he'd seen it last. Ezra, who never got up before noon, wasn't in his room. Nathan, Buck, and JD. were also missing. Tanner strode down to the saloon and looked inside. There were a few people he recognized but none of his friends were there; He crossed the street to the mission where Josiah could always be found when he wasn't with the others.

The mission's front door was wide open. Tanner stepped up on the veranda and looked inside. The building was quiet. Too quiet, he realized as he walked through the door and between the rows of pews. "Josiah?" Only the echo of his voice answered. He went to the back of the building where Josiah had his spartan quarters. The room was empty.

The fine hairs on the back of Tanners' neck rose as if he was being watched. He hastily retreated from the mission and out into the crowded street. Four Corners was proceeding with its day, and it appeared to Tanner that no one else realized something was amiss. He entered the hotel and climbed the stairs to his room. He stopped in the hallway when he saw his door partly open.

He stood beside the door, barely breathing as he listened. Tanner drew his gun and pushed the door open. The door creaked as it swung but there were no other sounds in the room. He stepped inside and scanned the room. Nothing was out of place except for the black bowler hat in the center of his bed. Tanner quickly checked the closet and outside the window before he closed the door and returned to the bed. Inside the hat was a collection of small items he immediately recognized. He sat heavily on the bed. It was a message he was sure, but from whom?

Tanner carefully lifted each item in turn from the hat. First was Buck's watch, then one of Nathan's doctoring tools, followed by Ezra's favorite deck of cards, the one only he played with, Josiah's necklace of charms and finally one of Larabee's spurs. He placed the spur on the bed next to the other items as he noted a piece of paper, tucked neatly under the band of JD.'s hat.

His heart thumped hard against his ribs as he slowly unfolded the paper, fearing and knowing what he would find. The note was written in a clean hand. The words were distinct and to the point.

Mr. Tanner,

Run and they die.

EJ. Thompson.

Tanner crumpled the note and angrily hurled it aside. His anger was split evenly between his having lingered in Four Corners long enough to make friends targets to be used against him and that he hadn't taken the time to deal with Mister Elijah James Thompson properly the last time they had met.

He had begun counting on the others to be around when he needed them. Now he felt very alone and guilty. He hadn't really considered the possibility that his friends would be used as tools to help bring him down. Tanner stood quickly as a white envelope was slipped under the door. He threw open the door, but the hallway was empty. He closed the door and picked up the envelope. The tracker broke the seal on the envelope and roughly pulled out the contents.

His light blue eyes glittered coldly as he read the note inside.

Mr. Tanner,

You are cordially invited to attend a gathering in honor of this momentous occasion. You will ride east, alone and without armaments to White Horse Bluff. You will arrive tomorrow at precisely noon. If you fail to comply, their deaths will be cheerfully added to your bounty.

EJ. Thompson

Tanner reread the note several times. It was going to be a long hard ride, he thought before he gathered up JD.'s hat and carefully placed the items taken from his friends inside. Finally he picked up his rifle and saddle bags, then went directly to the jail. Once there he placed the hat on the desk and rifle in the gun rack. Vin pulled the chair up to the desk and removed a piece of paper. He looked at the blank sheet for a long time as he carefully considered his words, then he picked up a pencil and began writing.

Missus Travis,

I've gone after the others, who have been taken hostage to insure my cooperation. Inform the judge. But, please, for their sakes don't let him do anything rash. The man who has taken the others is a killer and he will kill all of our friends if things don't go his way.

Respectfully,

VT

After carefully folding the note, Tanner placed it in the hat beneath Larabee's spur. He stood and removed his gunbelt, placing it and the Winchester in the top drawer next to JD.'s badge. Tanner picked up the star and held it for a long moment. He ran his thumb over the lettering, then returned it to the drawer.

Tanner rode up the slope to the top of the bluff. He was met by a stiff prairie breeze and a sight that was as painful as a gunshot. There were five heavily armed men near the center of the bluff, spread well apart. Kneeling beside the man in the middle was JD., arms tied behind his back and blindfolded. The former bounty hunter urged Peso forward at a slow walk and came to a stop about ten paces from the edgy group of men. He dropped the reins and spread his arms to the side slowly. A gust of wind swept his leather jacket back, revealing he wasn't wearing his gun.

"Are you okay, JD.?" he asked.

JD. turned his head in Vin's direction and nodded. "I'm okay."

"Where are the others?" Vin demanded of EJ., his eyes challenging.

"They're in safe keeping," EJ. replied smugly.

"You have me. Let them go."

"Can't do that, Mr. Tanner. You see, they're just too dangerous to let run around free, for the moment. My men have orders to release them after you have been safely taken care of in Tascosa. Now, if you don't mind, please step down from the horse." Tanner started to put his hands on the saddle horn to dismount when EJ. pulled the hammer back on his Army Colt, saying, "For the boy's sake, don't try something heroic."

Tanner spread his hands again, leaned back to lift his leg over the horse's head and slipped down to the ground. Two of EJ.'s men came forward and quickly restrained him while a third searched for hidden weapons. Finally they handcuffed his hands together in front of him presumably so he could still ride unassisted. "At least let the boy go," Tanner said as he moved a few steps closer with EJ.'s men having a firm grip on each of his elbows.

EJ. hoisted JD. roughly to his feet by his shirt collar and said, "If he's old enough to choose his friends -- no matter how poor the choice might be -- he's old enough to face the consequences of that choice." EJ. placed the barrel of the cocked revolver to JD.'s head.

In that horrible instant, Tanner was sure EJ. was quite capable of killing all his friends without provocation and for no particular reason other than he wanted to. That realization raised goose flesh on his arms and sent a chill down his spine. "You gave your word you'd let them go, if I cooperated," he said as calmly as he could, but there was still a faint quiver in his voice.

EJ. smiled as he contemplated Tanner's words, "I do believe I did say something to that effect. However, I stated it would be after this was over."

That smile made Tanner uneasy. He had to be careful or he'd end up watching JD. and the others die at this man's hands before the day was out. "A last request then," Tanner said, trying to keep his hate and anger bottled up.

"I hear a tone in your voice I don't particularly like," EJ. said, pressing the barrel a little harder. JD. Grimaced and bit his lip but remained silent.

There was a long pause before the silence was broken. "Mr. Thompson, please, let the boy go."

EJ. studied Tanner with cold dark eyes. He waited, watching to see what Tanner was going to do. The bounty hunter could see the inner struggle in Tanner's eyes as he came to some distasteful decision. Tanner looked down at the ground, his shoulders lowered. "Sir... please... let JD. go."

JD. flinched at the anguished tones in Tanner's voice. He had never thought to hear Vin Tanner, one of the strongest men he'd known, accept defeat without a fight.

EJ. smiled a cold and self-satisfied smile as he picked up on the very softly spoken "sir". He remembered vividly the first time he had tried to take Tanner in. The former bounty hunter had a rebellious tone in his voice as he asked, "You got a name, because I ain't gonna call you sir." Now that rebellion had been completely washed away. EJ. gloried in Tanner's misery as Vin waited, uncertain of what was to come.

Finally EJ. eased the Colt's hammer back, then flipped the bandana off JD.'s eyes with the gun's sight. He holstered the weapon with practiced ease. JD. blinked in the bright afternoon light. "Turn him loose," EJ. ordered the man to his right as he shoved JD. in that direction. The man, Danny -- an EJ. Thompson wannabe -- produced a key and turned it in the handcuff's lock. A moment later the cuffs slipped free.

JD. looked at Vin, his eyes asking what he should try as he rubbed circulation back into the skin around his wrists. The former bounty hunter shook his head slightly saying, "JD., take Peso and get out of here. Go back to Four Corners."

"But, Vin, you're innocent! You can't just let him do this to you," JD. protested, taking a step forward.

EJ. smirked.

"You only have his word on that, kid," EJ.'s hired gun-hand Danny hissed in his ear.

Tanner glowered briefly at Danny, then returned his attention to JD. "I have no choice. Tell Chris and the others..." he paused, "that it was a good ride. Now, my young friend, ride out of here."

"But --"

"JD.!" Tanner said, sharply cutting him off. "Just go please. Now."

The boy looked at EJ. and the other gunmen, then back to Vin. The former bounty hunter nodded in the direction of his horse. The younger man started to reach out to shake Vin's hand, then thought better of it and walked a few steps more. JD. stopped, straightened his shoulders and turned to face his friend.

EJ. studied the young man as his men came to attention, their hands hovering near their weapons. He could see the boy's determination. JD. took a step towards Tanner. EJ. held up a hand to hold his men in check. JD. walked up to his friend and shook his hand. There was moisture forming in his eyes, but the tears never fell. He returned to the horse. Taking up its reins, he pulled himself up into the saddle and turned to look down on Vin. Their eyes met again and they both understood what the other couldn't say aloud.

As JD. turned and began to ride off, Vin yelled, putting as much meaning into the words as he could, "Grow old for me, JD., you hear?" JD. turned back in his saddle and acknowledged Vin with a nod as the horse ambled slowly west toward the edge of the bluff.

Tanner watched JD. ride away, inwardly relieved he had been released. The young sheriff turned and briefly looked over his shoulder, flattened himself on Peso's back, then picked up their pace to a flat out gallop.

Tanner knew instantly something was wrong. Out of the corner of his eye he saw EJ. 's henchman Danny chambering his rifle, getting ready to shoot. Even though Tanner knew he couldn't get to the rifle in time, he tried.

Stomping hard on one guard's foot with the heel of his boot and putting his elbow in the face of the other, Tanner lunged just as the gun went off. As the gun recoiled, the man sensed movement to his left. He stepped back out of the way of Tanner's lunge, bringing the rifle butt down hard on Tanner's back. A moment later Tanner found himself being crushed to the ground under the weight of three of EJ. 's men. He fought hard but was unable to win free.

"Damn you, Clyde, I told you to watch him close," EJ. snarled. "Go get the horses."

Clyde spat blood and nodded, wiping blood off the lower half of his face as he ran.

"Boss, shouldn't we go after the kid?" Ike asked from where he knelt with one knee in the middle of Tanner's back.

"No need," Danny said confidently as he ejected the spent shell from the chamber of the Sharps rifle. "It was a good shot. He won't go far." Tanner ceased his struggles as Danny's words struck home. He closed his eyes and, although not a religious man, prayed Danny was wrong.

EJ. glowered at Danny, his hand on the grip of his gun, half a step from shooting the man where he stood. After a moment he regained control and said, "See to Tanner. Then we'll go check on the boy." He turned to the rest of his men. "Be ready to pull out as soon as we return."

Clyde returned a few minutes later with six horses. He handed out reins as he passed each man. EJ. looked at Clyde. The bleeding from his nose had stopped but there were definite signs of bruising beginning under each of Clyde's eyes. He'd be wearing a racoon's mask before the day was out.

Mounting up, EJ. and Danny rode out to the edge of the bluff. Looking down, they saw where Tanner's horse had fallen after it dropped over the edge of the bluff. It was hobbling in the valley bottom and riderless. One of EJ.'s men pointed. "There he is." JD. lay in an unmoving heap against a rock. "Should we check on him?"

Thompson turned his horse away from the edge. "No. If he hasn't bled off by now, he'll be dead from the heat soon enough." They returned to where the others stood guard over Tanner.

From where he was seated on the ground, Tanner looked up at Danny from under his brows. He studied every detail of the gunman's face and committed them to memory, his blue eyes icy with hate. For a brief moment Danny wondered if shooting the kid had been a miscalculation. He shrugged it off. There couldn't be any loose ends. "Blindfold him," Danny ordered.


	2. Chapter 2

PART 1WO

Tanner could feel the heat of the sun on his back as Thompson and his cronies led him on a generally winding path. Wherever they were headed, it was east of White Horse Bluff. There had been some steep climbs, and the iron shoes of the horses frequently clicked against rocks or slid on loose gravel.

"Last stop before Tascosa, Mr. Tanner," called Thompson. The horses stopped and rough hands jerked him from the saddle. "Ike, go saddle up the fresh horses. Clyde, you and Randall take Mr. Tanner in to say goodbye to his friends."

"What's the hurry? Ain't anyone chasing you this time," Tanner asked.

EJ. grinned. "I'm not taking any chances."

Tanner felt a jerk on the chain between his wrists and stumbled forward, feeling like a blind dog on a leash. He was led some fifty paces into a dark and cool place. The air smelled dusty and dank. They continued on for a while, the sounds of their passage echoing strangely. Then Tanner heard the squeak of hinges, and his shoulders brushed against a doorway.

"Well, we've got company again," came the reassuringly calm voice of Buck, laced heavily with sarcasm. "You wanna turn off that damn lantern?"

"I brought you a visitor," Thompson said from somewhere to Tanner's left. "Blindfold stays on," he added as the tracker reached up.

Tanner let his hands drop. "You boys okay?"

"Vin?" Larabee's tone was surprised.

"Yeah." .

"Where's JD.?" asked Buck.

Tanner was quiet for a long moment. "I think Thompson's man Danny killed him."

There was stunned silence. "You bastard!" Buck roared, struggling to push himself upright. "Let me get my hands on that son of –"

"Buck." Tanner's voice was harsh, almost pleading. "There'll be another time."

The shuffling stopped and he heard Buck mumble a disheartened, "Son of a bitch."

"I brought you here to let you know your friends are alive. Well, most of them, anyway," Thompson said. Buck growled ominously. Tanner said, "I appreciate that."

"Now what?" Larabee asked.

Thompson moved closer to Tanner. "Mr. Tanner and I are going to Tascosa. The rest of you are staying here in the safekeeping of my men. You have my word that none of you will be harmed."

"Yeah, right. I ain't stayin' here that long," vowed Buck.

In spite of the blindfold, Tanner thought he could see the smile on Thompson's face. "You'll have to catch us first. Ike, take Mr. Tanner back outside."

"We caught you last time," Larabee snarled.

"You won't this time, Mr. Larabee, I guarantee it," EJ. replied confidently.

A rough hand grabbed Tanner's shoulder and shoved him back toward the door. The door hinges squeaked as Thompson told someone, "I'll send a message when they've hung Mr. Tanner. You can let them go then."

The door swung shut, but Tanner heard the impact of something -- someone -- slamming into it. The door wasn't thick enough to hide the momentary scuffle from the other side, then there was silence.

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"Brother Buck, " Josiah said calmly, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder, "Calm down. It's not going to do us any good now."

Ezra leaned his head back and stared into the blackness. "Does anyone have any idea where we might be?" he asked. 

"An abandoned mine," Buck said sarcastically, pacing the small room.

Ezra glowered at him, an expression that was lost in the darkness. "I mean aside from the obvious. It would be nice to know where we are when these hoodlums finally release us."

"I don't think their gonna let us go, Ezra. They'll probably just blow the mine."

Silence followed Buck's announcement. Chain clinked as someone moved, then Nathan said, "I figure we're at least two days from Four Comers. From what Chris said, none of us were missing all that long."

"Don't much matter now, though," said Buck, "we got more important things to worry about. You got any ideas, Chris?"

"I think we'd better concentrate on getting out of here," Larabee said quietly.

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The buckboard rolled to a stop. Judge Travis stood on the seat and scanned the rocky terrain. His hand shaded his eyes from the afternoon glare as he scanned the horizon. "Do you see anything?" Mary asked hesitantly.

The judge sat heavily next to his daughter-in-law. He shook his head slightly and took up the reins. Mary looked at him as he flicked the reins gently on the bay's back. His sharp, weathered features were shadowed by more than his hat. They rode along in silence for a while before he said, "Mary, it's a good thing you came to get me when you did but we should have brought a posse or at least a tracker with us." She looked at him in horror. He saw the look and, before she could voice her protest, he said, "But I respect Mr. Tanner enough to honor his request." They rounded a small rise that brought White Horse Bluff into full view.

Mary placed her hand on his shoulder and stood. "A horse," she said, pointing. As her words carried across the distance the seal brown horse looked up, ears forward. The white blaze on its face glowed in the sunlight. "Isn't that Mr. Tanner's horse?"

Judge Travis reined in and brought the wagon to a halt. He studied the horse carefully. "Could be. It belongs to someone, though," he said, spotting the dusty saddle it wore. He stepped down from the buckboard and held his hand out to Mary. She gathered her dark blue-gray skirts and joined him on the road.

Walking slowly toward the horse, the senior Travis kept an eye open for a possible ambush. The horse shied from him as he reached out to catch the reins. He immediately noted the horse was favoring a foreleg. Using his years of experience, Judge Travis spoke calmly to the animal and began easing forward very slowly.

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Mary wiped her sweating brow with the back of her hand. The tracks Tanner's horse left were distinct and easy to follow in the soft soil at the base of the bluff. She was about to give up her search when she spotted a scuffed up brown boot poking out from behind a large boulder. "Orrin, come here quickly!" She scrambled around the boulder and came up short. The man lying in the shadow of the rock was not the man she expected to find.

She immediately recognized JD. Mary put her hand over her mouth. His still form lying against the rock reminded her of a crumpled newspaper haphazardly tossed into a comer.

"What is it?" Judge Travis shouted back to her.

"It's JD.!" she shouted as she knelt. She steeled herself as she hesitantly reached out to brush a lock of his dark hair off his face. She couldn't believe he was dead. The skin on his cheek was gray and cool to the touch. Various sized tears and blood spots covered his clothing. Most of the stains were sun-dried. The largest on his back, however, was moist. It was then she realized dead men didn't bleed.

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The darkened interior of the cabin was broken up by shafts of sunlight piercing the shabbily boarded walls. A short dumpy man stood over an uneven wood stove stirring the contents of a blackened and generally abused kettle. Ike grumbled under his breath as he stirred the beans, "If I have to cook one more God forsaken bean. I think I'm gonna mutiny. Can't we cook something different for a change? I mean ten more days of this. . ."

Dwayne looked up from the horn-handled Colt he was lovingly cleaning. "You plan on sticking around ten more days?"

"But EJ. said--"

Randall bit off a hunk of tobacco and chewed on it thoughtfully a minute before he spat in the corner and remarked, "EJ.'s not here to say different."

"We were talking about it last night, Ike. If we just let them go like EJ. wants us to, they'll come hunting us sure as rain. And I'm not willing to take that chance." Dwayne loaded the Colt and deftly slipped the cylinder back into place, concluding with an uneven grin, "I say we should just kill them. Now."

There was silence in the one room cabin as Dwayne's words sank in.

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Ezra shuffled around, patting the uneven ground as he moved. His slender fingers analyzed and discarded items he found, tossing them behind him.

Josiah cocked his head to one side, tracking Ezra's movement by the rattle of chains. "Do you need help, my friend?"

Ezra stopped, considering. "I need two pieces of wire, or at the least two long nails."

Buck frowned. "Exactly what're you up to?"

"I, sir, am working on our freedom from this predicament before they attempt to feed me another plate of those deplorable beans." The gambler grunted in satisfaction as he found a short piece of wire he considered adequate. "With some patience and my...dexterity...1 should be able to remove these manacles."

He found another wire and moved back to the others. He felt around until he encountered a boot in the general area where he remembered hearing Nathan's voice.

"Mr. Jackson?" he asked hopefully. When he received an affirmative answer, he knelt. "Hold out your hands and I'll see if I can affect your emancipation."

"I'm glad to see you're continuing the work of Mr. Lincoln," Nathan said, offering his hands.

Ezra felt along the chains until he found a cuff and fumbled for the keyhole. He slipped the wires into the opening and carefully began manipulating them.

"You done this sort of thing before?" Nathan asked.

Ezra cocked an eye at him, although the man couldn't see him. "Please, Mr. Jackson, I've never used this particular means to procure my release. A gentleman I gambled with in Wyoming described the technique to me. It takes a few moments longer to get leg irons off." As he finished speaking, the lock opened with an audible click.

"Me next," Buck said, his voice a dangerous growl.

"Just wait your turn, Buck," chastised Nathan. It wasn't long before they heard a second click, followed by the thud of manacles hitting the ground. "Let me get Ezra free first." He smiled, imagining the look the others were giving him. "I got pretty good at this before the war. I'll manage the leg irons if you'd like to find more wire, Ezra." A click followed his words and in a moment, Ezra was free as well.

Ezra returned to the area where the wires had been found and resumed his search. He found the second piece as he heard Nathan's leg irons fall free. He moved to Josiah while Nathan sought out Buck.

Nathan paused in his work, realizing there had been no sound from their unofficial leader. "Chris? You okay?"

"Fine." The word sounded strained, Larabee's voice tight. He also seemed farther away than before.

They heard the sound of the bar across the door being moved away. Ezra and Nathan scrambled back to their positions against the wall as the door opened. Lantern light flooded the small room. The prisoners blinked away the spots as their eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. Their four captors strode into the room, weapons ready.

"You have one minute to say goodbye and make peace with God," declared their leader.

A black shadow lunged out of a comer to the right of the door and plowed into two of the killers. Larabee's free left hand slammed into one man's face while his other hand closed on the revolver.

Buck was the first to follow Larabee's attack, charging forward with a roar. He smashed his chained fists into the first man's stomach, then wrapped the chain around his neck.

Nathan reacted as the third man brought his gun up. His attack knocked the man back into the wall, and the two of them went down in a struggling mass of arms and legs. There was a bloodcurdling scream, then abrupt silence.

Regaining his balance after Larabee's assault, the fourth man fled. Larabee wrenched the gun away from his feebly struggling opponent and fired at the fleeing man. The bullet smashed into the back of his knee, dropping him with a scream.

Larabee got to his feet and moved back, surveying the scene. His opponent and the man he had shot were alive and out of the fight. Nathan was kneeling over a body with a length of wire protruding from one eye socket.

Buck still had the chain wrapped around his victim's throat as he methodically smashed the dead man's head into the ground.

"See if one of them has the keys," Larabee said to Ezra through clenched teeth.

Josiah moved to Buck and put a hand on his shoulder. "Brother Buck," he said calmly, "his Maker will see that justice is done now."

Buck stopped, looking from the preacher to his victim. A look of disgust twisted his features. Unwrapping the chain, he let the bloody corpse fall to the ground. Ezra came back from the man Larabee had shot, keys in hand, and moved to Josiah.

Nathan joined Larabee, noting the bloody band around his left hand where he had sacrificed skin to force the cuff off. "Let me have a look at that hand," he said.

Larabee nodded, his teeth set against the stinging pain. The former slave picked up the lantern and carefully looked at the injury while Ezra removed his restraints. The deepest scrapes were at the base of the thumb and little finger where the span was the widest, and across the knuckles. Dirt from the fight stuck to the seeping blood.

"You keep doing that, and someone's eventually gonna realize you got skinny hands," said Nathan. "I'll have to clean that up when we get some water."

"It'll wait." Larabee's icy gaze fixed on their other prisoner, who was stirring as consciousness returned. The gunslinger knelt, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt. "You're going to give us some answers, boy. How many men are waiting outside?"

"None," the man mumbled, holding his jaw.

"Don't lie to me!" Larabee shook him. "How many?"

"None! Honest to God! EJ. took everybody else with him!"

Larabee rose, exchanging looks with Josiah and Buck. "Check it out," he instructed. "And see if you can find our guns and horses."

"They're there," the prisoner said emphatically. "All the horses, your gun belts... everything!"

Josiah reached down and lifted the man to his feet as easily as he would have a child. "Why don't you show us where, brother?" His tone left no room for argument. The big man and Buck headed outside. Ezra and Nathan followed, helping the wounded man, and Larabee brought up the rear.

The morning sun was nearly too bright for eyes used to total darkness. They stayed in the shadows of the mine shaft, letting their eyes adjust gradually. The mine was located at the base of a rocky overhang. A flat, narrow valley spread out before them. A crude cabin was located to the left of the mine. A dozen horses milled about in a run-down pole corral near a buckboard filled with hay.

"Looks like you weren't lying," Buck said to the prisoner.

He started toward the cabin, keeping his borrowed revolver ready just in case. Larabee followed him. The others started toward the corral.

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The railroad clerk wrinkled his nose in disgust as men riding down Bonito's street stirred up a large quantity of dust that came right in his window. He blew some of the dust off the neat stacks of paper and tickets on his rolltop desk and straightened them carefully. He heard horses stop outside the ticket office and gave the papers one last adjustment, pushing his spectacles back up on his nose.

"Get down from there," a smooth voice said from beyond the ticket window.

The sound of feet landing on the packed earth and the jingle of chains were too disturbingly familiar. The clerk stood slowly, an uneasy feeling growing in his stomach. He'd heard that voice before. Heavy boots stepped onto the porch, and the jingling chains followed. A well-dressed cowboy appeared in the ticket window.

"Three tickets for Santa Ria, Texas," he said. "And the use of your storeroom for the afternoon."

Granted, it had been just under six months, but the clerk clearly remembered EJ. Thompson. "No, not again," he mumbled under his breath as he walked slowly to the window. The skinny clerk looked hesitantly beyond the bounty hunter and didn't see anyone. He started to relax.

Tanner poked his head into view and said, "Remember us?"

The clerk jerked back in surprise. The comment earned Tanner a right cross that left him sitting on the porch, ears ringing. Even so, he couldn't contain his grin.

EJ. fixed Tanner with an icy stare, his hand resting on the grip of his gun. "I see that spark of rebellion in your eyes. Lose it."

Clyde and Danny yanked Tanner to his feet and led him to the storeroom door. The clerk fumbled with the lock for a moment, then pulled the door open. Tanner couldn't resist leaning toward the clerk and saying "BOO!" The tiny man nearly turned around in his skin in his haste to retreat from their prisoner.

Danny pitched Tanner head-first into the storeroom, heedless of the contents. There was a loud crash and the clerk flinched as they heard boxes falling. Danny smiled as he pushed the door closed and turned the key in the lock. Click.

EJ. laid the money for the tickets on the desk and told the other two, 'Watch him both of you." He picked up the tickets and strode from the building.

"Danny, who takes first watch?"

"You do. I need a drink."

"So do I. Why should you go first?" Clyde protested.

"Because I'm second in command," Danny said as he exited the building.

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Larabee passed the slip of paper to the grey-haired telegrapher, along with a silver dollar to pay for the telegram. As the man read the message, his brows rose slightly.

Mary Travis, Four Corners, care of the Clarion News. 

We have escaped and are headed for Tascosa. 

Will contact you as soon as I can.

C. Larabee

"Where will you be for the return message?" he asked hesitantly.

"There won't be any return message," Larabee said as he turned and walked out the door. He joined the others at the horses where they were securing supplies to their saddles.

"You ready to ride?" asked Buck.

"Just one more thing." Larabee looked at each of his friends. "I think one of us needs to go back and find JD.'s... bring back JD."

Everyone fell quiet for a moment. "Knew that fool kid'd get himself killed one of these times," Buck said bitterly.

"You volunteerin'?" asked Nathan.

"I'm gonna kill the man who did it."

"I think we all feel that way, Buck," said Josiah. "But someone needs to go. For the boy's sake." 

"Gentlemen, might I propose a fair and equitable solution to our dilemma?" All eyes went to Ezra. The gambler held up a newly acquired deck of cards and said, "We cut cards for it. Low card goes back."

"All right." Larabee reached over and took the cards from him. "But I'll hold the deck."

Ezra smiled. "No matter. It just makes the challenge a little more difficult."

Larabee deftly shuffled the cards, then held them out to Buck. He made his draw but didn't reveal the card.

Nathan and Josiah went next. Ezra drew fourth. Larabee was the last to draw.

Buck looked at Ezra. "Show your card, gambling man."

Ezra looked at his card. A smile crossed his handsome features and he revealed the ace of spades. "The master's touch," he explained. "Your turn, Mr. Wilmington."

Buck held up his card, the seven of hearts. Josiah impassively turned over the two of clubs. Larabee's card was the king of diamonds. Nathan looked at his card, then showed it: the two of diamonds.

"So now what?" asked the black healer. "Do we both go?"

"No." Larabee's tone left no room for argument. "I'll need all the guns I can get when we ride into Tascosa." 

"They could draw again to break the tie," Ezra suggested.

"Nathan needs to go," Josiah suggested softly.

"Now, hold on just a minute! Why should I be the one who goes?" asked Nathan. "I owe Vin just as much as any of you do. Maybe even more." For a brief moment he imagined he could feel the noose tighten around his throat once again.

Josiah put a hand on' Nathan's shoulder. "Vin thought Danny killed JD. But where there's doubt, there is always room for hope."

Indecision flickered across Nathan's face for a moment, then he nodded. "All right, I'll go." Everyone started to mount their horses, and he said, "But I still think I'll be able to do Vin more good than I can JD."

Larabee reined his horse around. "If that's the case, join us in Tascosa."

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A quiet moan woke Mary out of a fitful doze. She looked over at her charge. JD. was beginning to stir. Her heart leapt as she rose from her chair. "JD.?"

There were a few unintelligible sounds in response to her question. She brushed a dark lock of hair off his forehead. JD.'s eyes were open but still unfocused. She poured a short glass of water and lifted his head so that he could drink.

He drank eagerly but Mary kept him from drinking too much at a time. "Easy now, you're safe," she said softly.

JD. looked up at her, his dark eyes finally focusing on her. "Mary?" he croaked softly. 'Where?"

"You're safe in Nathan's quarters," she said, setting the glass on the night-stand. "The judge and I brought you here from White Horse Bluff two days ago." JD. stirred in his bed as if to get up. Mary put a hand on his shoulder. Lie still or you'll open your wounds again."

"The others?"

Mary looked away for a moment carefully considering her words. "We don't know yet," she said softly. JD.'s eyes closed slowly as he slipped back into the pain-free darkness. She silently prayed they'd return soon. JD. needed more help than she could give him.

Taking advantage of the moment, Mary walked across the carpeted floor to the door. She opened it quietly and spoke to her son who was playing cowboy quietly in the hallway. "Billy, go over to the restaurant and have Mrs. Huxley fix us a picnic lunch." She handed him a few coins. The boy smiled widely and dashed down the hallway. Mary closed the door and returned to her chair.

A few short minutes later she heard hurried footsteps coming up the stairs in the hall. She reached the door as Billy turned the knob. Her son was out of breath. He held a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. "Mom, Mr. Duncan said to hurry and give this to you."

Mary quickly read the telegram. "Thank you, Billy," she said, her voice more cheerful than he had heard it in the past few days. "Hurry now, go get our lunch," she encouraged.

As the door clicked shut. Mary heard JD. stirring again. She went to his side and checked on him. His eyes opened at the touch of her hand on his shoulder.

"Mary?" JD. asked softly.

"I'm here," she replied. She picked up the half glass of water off the bureau and helped him to drink. "Just a little more.". ,

JD. shook his head slightly and Mary put the glass back. "The others back?" he asked softly.

Mary realized suddenly that JD. had no idea how much time had passed since he last put coherent thoughts together. "No, not yet. But I have just received a telegram. They're all alive and well."

"Where?" .

"JD., you have to rest."

"Where are they?" he asked again. His eyes pleading with her.

Finally Mary was forced to relent and tell him the others had escaped from their captors and were trying to catch up with Tanner in Tascosa, before they could hang him for the murder of Jess Kincaid.

"Take me there. Please."

"You can't go. You're too weak to travel. It'll kill you."

"I'll go without you then!" he said as he tried desperately to rise up from the bed. He managed to sit up before the color in his cheeks drained away and he pitched forward into her arms.

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Nathan took a long drink of water from his canteen and made a face. The liquid was warm and had a tinny taste, but it was all he had until he reached the springs on the south side of White Horse Bluff.

He hung the canteen from his saddle horn again and wiped the sweat from his brow. He could see the bluff ahead. The only access to the top was a trail on the other side, sloping up the west face. He figured that would be the best place to start.

He touched his heels to the bay's sides, starting it forward again. The horse picked its way through the tall sagebrush and soft sand. Nathan headed it generally southwest, keeping his eyes open for any trouble. Not all the Indians in this area were as friendly as Koje's tribe or the Seminole.

He reached the springs without incident and slid stiffly out of the saddle. The horse walked forward a few feet and drank deeply from the pool of water. Nathan emptied the stale water from his canteen and refilled it at the spring head. He ducked his head under the cool water, then walked around slowly to work the kinks out of his legs.

"I weren't meant to be no cowboy," he grumbled.

A flash of color in the brush a dozen feet away caught his attention and he walked toward it. It was a piece of cloth, stained brown with dried blood. He picked it up carefully and realized the original cloth was a familiar tan and black checked pattern.

Nathan straightened, searching for any sign that a wounded JD. might be somewhere nearby. He nearty missed the wagon tracks, filling with blowing sand.

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Larabee stopped near the livery stable. "Buck, you and Ezra see about getting supplies. Especially more ammunition. Josiah, get four tickets to Santa Ria. Use Judge Travis's name if you have to. I'll see to the horses."

The four men dismounted taking their saddlebags and headed off to their assigned duties. Josiah walked along the narrow boardwalk to the railroad ticket office. He waited on the bench by the window until a matronly woman and her teenaged daughter had purchased their tickets. He stood and tipped his hat as they passed. He stepped up to the window and leaned on the sill. He watched the people on the street as he requested four tickets to Santa Ria Texas.

When there was no response, Josiah looked through the bars. The clerk stood just inside the window, his mouth open and face as pale as his spotless white shirt. "Good afternoon, brother," Josiah said recognizing the clerk from his last visit to Bonito.

The clerk fainted dead away when Josiah smiled.

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Mary sat up with a start, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. She hadn't meant to doze off. She smoothed her clothing and looked at her patient. JD. was sleeping peacefully, but his face was still flushed with fever. Mary moved to a nearby night stand to get water from a pitcher, but it was empty. She held the empty pitcher and looked at JD., momentarily torn by indecision. The injured man's needs won out, and she turned toward the door.

Heavy footsteps clumped up the steps outside. Mary drew back as the door swung open. Judge Travis strode in, followed by Nathan Jackson. The judge went to her while Nathan went to JD.'s side.

"Oh, thank God," Mary breathed in relief. She looked toward JD. "We've been terribly worried about him. He spends most of his time asleep, and he has a fever."

Nathan paused, bent over JD. "Go fill that pitcher with water and bring it back right away. Then find me some clean cloths. Lots of them."

Mary left quickly. Travis watched Nathan adjust the lamp nearest to the bed, then ease JD. onto his side. He carefully removed the bandages and inspected both the entry and exit wounds. The holes were caked with an ugly yellowish crust, and the flesh around them was an angry red. Nathan felt around the wound, and the youngster's muscles twitched involuntarily.

"How serious is it?" the judge asked.

Nathan looked up, his expression relieved. "A hand-span either direction and we wouldn't've had to worry. But I've seen worse. He should be okay with plenty of rest."

"Mary's concerned about his temperature being so high."

"Body's natural reaction to getting shot," explained Nathan. "Should go down once the wound starts to heal."

"Then why did you send Mary away?"

"It gives her something to do."

Travis smiled in appreciation. "Eh, sort of like telling an expectant father to go boil water." 

"Right." Nathan smiled, too. "But I am gonna need water and fresh bandages sooner or later."

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The train's whistle blew mournfully as Tanner rubbed the thickening beard stubble on his chin and stood shakily, the rocking of the train causing him to lean against the wall for balance. His stomach churned violently for the second time in an hour. "Again?" Danny questioned as he trained his rifle on Tanner.

"Bad food," Tanner said, his features pale, voice shaking. He took a few steps toward the door of the rail car. Danny stood and opened the door an inch or so and checked the surroundings that slipped by the opening. He smiled as the train passed along the steep grade of White Rock Canyon and onto a high trestle. Tanner wouldn't dare try to escape from the train here. He nodded to Clyde and opened the door.

The former bounty hunter leaned against the door frame, breathing in the crisp desert air. He spat, clearing the bile from his throat. Tanner's eyes narrowed as he scanned the gorge below. He sagged to his knees beside the door. Danny came forward, taking hold of Tanner's shoulder to keep him from falling out of the car. He leaned closer, saying, "You'd better not die on me."

Tanner looked up, eyes flashing with cold hate. "I won't," he promised softly as he braced his shoulder against the door frame. He grabbed Danny by the shirt and launched him out the door.

Danny's death scream brought Clyde across the railcar at a run.

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Nathan carried the bowl of soup up the back stairs that led to his office. He carefully balanced the bowl in one hand and opened the door slowly, not wanting to disturb JD. if the boy had fallen asleep again.

"That damned fool!"

He set the bowl on his desk and hurried to the empty bed. He looked under it, then in the closet. Finally he looked out the window, but there was no sign of JD.

Nathan raced out of the office and down .the stairs. He paused in the street, looking around. As weak as he was, JD. could not have gone far. Then he saw a horse, eyes rolling in fear, dancing in a nervous circle. Under the horse's belly he could see two white, hairy legs.

JD. was as white as the nightshirt he was wearing. He clung tightly to the saddle, trying to get the horse to hold still so he could mount.

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"Planning on going somewhere?" inquired Nathan.

"Nathan. . . "

JD. turned to face the healer. That took the last of his strength. His knees buckled and he collapsed. Freed from his grasp, the horse trotted away. JD. made a futile grab for the reins, but fell flat.

Nathan put his hands on his hips and leaned over the fallen boy. "Sneaking off ain't gonna do you any good," he chastised. He reached down and helped JD. sit up. "You'd've never gotten on that horse. And even if you did, you would've fallen off before you went fifty feet."

JD. looked up at him. "But we've got to help Vin!"

"Just what do you think Chris and the others are doing?"

"But --"

"Look." Nathan's expression was grim. "I know you want to help. I'm sure Vin and the others know it, too. But if we went to Tascosa, they'd be worrying about you. And they got enough to worry about with savin' Vin." 

JD.'s shoulders sagged. "I just don't like sitting here doing nothing."

Nathan placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I feel the same, JD."

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Sheriff Willingham sat at his desk while Tanner stood, having refused the chair he was directed to. A pair of nervous deputies hovered nearby. EJ. Thompson stood on the opposite side of the desk from Tanner. He tucked his gloves in his belt as the sheriff opened a drawer and removed a folder of papers. "There are a few papers you need to sign, Mr. Thompson, before I wire the governor for authorization to release the reward money."

"I'm sure looking forward to celebrating in style with that fifteen hundred dollars," Thompson said smugly. Tanner looked at the sheriff and corrected sarcastically, "That's five hundred dollars."

"I'm afraid you're wrong there, Tanner," the sheriff said, handing Thompson a pen and pointing to where he needed to sign. "The reward's for fifteen hundred dollars. Five hundred dollars, dead or alive, for the murder of Jess Kincaid and a thousand for the murder of Tom Jones."

"What!" Tanner shouted in disbelief as he took a step closer to the desk. "I didn't kill either of those men." The deputies bristled and cocked their weapons. Sheriff Willingham looked up uneasily, not quite sure what Tanner would try. "Don't look so surprised," he said after a moment. "We lost your trail that next afternoon and found the body on our return, right where you had hidden it. Poor old Tom Jones didn't even see you coming before you buried that stolen hunting knife in his back to the hilt."

Tanner's jaw dropped and he sank heavily into the chair behind him.

Thompson smiled fleetingly at the poleaxed look on Tanner's face. "I'd a shot you dead back in Four Corners months ago, but that added thousand dollars made it worth all the extra trouble. It's just a shame none of those boys you chose to ride with had bounties. It would have been a sweet deal," EJ. said, putting a finger to the brim of his hat as he turned to leave.

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"I hope we resolve this in a timely manner," Ezra drawled. "I am tired, thirsty, and my posterior is' more than somewhat tender. "

The others ignored his lamentations. Josiah reined his horse in. "Chris! Hold up!" he called. The others stopped their mounts as well. The former preacher said, "You got a plan, or are we just gonna ride in and break

Brother Vin out of jail?"

Larabee turned around. "You got a better idea?"

"We don't know how many guards there might be. They might've brought in the Army to keep the peace until the hanging. You plan on fighting them all?"

"If I have to."

Josiah's words were quiet, calming. "Uncontrolled anger is a dark thing."

Larabee's expression hardened as he reconsidered. "Split up. Come in from different directions. Take a look around and meet at the Equity Bar."

He turned his horse again and started toward Tascosa. Josiah paused by Buck. "Keep a close eye on Chris," he cautioned the mustached man. "If he sees Thompson, he might just shoot him."

"If he doesn't, I will."

Buck followed his old friend. Ezra and Josiah headed another direction.

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Harry Sanders rolled his eyes and stalked over to the gallows. He stopped beside the new construction and looked up. "Gosh darn it, George. There're supposed to be thirteen stairs, not seven!"

The thin man pounding nails into the platform paused and looked down. He brushed the sweat from his brow and removed the nails from his mouth. "Harry, gall-dang-it, I ain't about to waste good lumber on a killer."

"It's bad luck."

"Not for me. It's good business."

"If there aren't thirteen steps, how do you know he's far enough off the ground?"

George sighed and pushed himself to his feet. "Look, he ain't that much taller than you. And the rope's gonna stop about here," he said, using the handle of his hammer to indicate the distance. "That leaves at least three steps clearance. It ought ta be enough. 'Sides if there's too much distance, I've heard it can be... messy."

"You're sure?" Harry asked dubiously.

"I'm sure. This is my third hanging under ol' Frank Calhoun. Now, I'm tired," George said, climbing down the stairs "And it's your turn to buy." Together they headed for the saloon.


	3. Chapter 3

PART THREE

"Brother Ezra," Josiah said, reining his horse to a stop. "I have a call to make."

"I will await your arrival with the others." Ezra urged his horse on towards the Equity Bar. Josiah nodded and turned his horse back the way they had come.

He rode easily down the street and came to a stop before the jail. Josiah stepped down from his horse and scanned the street. He reached back to his saddlebags and released the straps. He slipped his gun belt off and placed it in the bag. He withdrew his battered Bible and set it on the saddle, then resecured the straps.

Josiah looked up at the sun and sand-blasted sign above the door. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Lord," he whispered as he looked skyward, "you know better than I the heart of Vin Tanner, my friend. If you could see your way clear," he paused, studying the ground, "I'd be much obliged."

A light breeze sent a swirl of dust dancing along the boardwalk as Josiah climbed the stairs. He paused before the door and knocked twice, then reached for the knob. The door opened and Josiah found himself facing the revolver of a nervous deputy.

"Peace, brother," Josiah said softly. The deputy quickly assessed the big man standing before him. Josiah smiled slightly. "I have come a great distance to minister to the soul of your prisoner."

"You have, have ya?"

"Yes," he replied simply.

"Why this man?" the deputy asked his gun not wavering.

"All God's children, be they good or bad, require guidance in their last hours."

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Larabee strode toward the saloon, followed closely by Buck. He paused in the doorway and scanned the room. Ezra was already present, his attention on a table near the back. Larabee followed his gaze, saw the well dressed man sitting by himself, and stalked across the room.

Thompson looked up. "I wasn't expecting you for at least another week," he said, his tone mildly surprised. Larabee leaned across the table. "Your boys were too eager to kill us," he said in a quiet, dangerous voice. "I should shoot you now, you son of a bitch."

Thompson leaned back and hooked his thumbs in his jacket, opening it wide. "I'm not armed," he said calmly. "If you shoot me, it'll be murder."

"No law against shooting dogs," Buck observed. "Especially a mad one."

For just a brief instant, Thompson lost a bit of his confidence. "They'll hang you right next to Tanner."

A wolfish smile crossed Larabee's features. "I'd be in good company."

Larabee straightened as the batwing doors swung open. Three men with badges -- a sheriff and two deputies came in., The deputies stayed near the door, but the sheriff continued forward until he was standing between Larabee and Thompson, his shotgun pointed negligently toward the black-clad gunman.

"Afternoon," drawled the sheriff in a let's-not-do-anythingyou'll-regret tone. "You boys got business here in town?"

"Just a few rats to kill," Buck volunteered from where he stood next to the bar with a boot resting on the rail.

The sheriff used his shotgun barrel to move Larabee's duster away from his side, revealing the ivory handled Army colt there. "You're packin' a lot of hardware for killing rats."

Larabee never took his eyes off Thompson. "Some rats take more killing than others."

The sheriff stepped back, resting his shotgun across his shoulder. "Guess you haven't heard about the new ordinance, being that you just arrived an' all. No guns in town until after the hanging. You gotta check 'em in at the office."

"What're you afraid of, Sheriff?" asked Buck. "You afraid someone'll try freeing your-prisoner?"

"Nope. Just afraid someone'll lynch him before we can legally hang him."

"Highly unlikely," Ezra muttered under his breath.

"That apply to everyone, Sheriff? Or just strangers?"

"Everyone."

"Wonderful, " moaned Ezra.

Larabee carefully reached for the buckle on his gunbelt. He unbuckled it and held it out to the sheriff. "We'll be back for them later. We won't be staying long."

The sheriff and his deputies collected the gun belts. The sheriff paused in front of Ezra. "I've known enough of your kind. You carrying a hideout?"

From beyond the sheriff's shoulder, the gambler caught the slightest shake of Larabee's head. Ezra held up his left hand in a gesture of warning to the sheriff. "Please don't be alarmed."

With a practiced flick of his wrist, Ezra produced his Derringer sleeve gun. Taking it by the barrel, he held it out to the sheriff. The sheriff accepted the small weapon with an ill-concealed look of distaste.

"You can pick these up when you leave town," he said.

"We'll do that, Sheriff," said Buck.

The sheriff and his deputies left. Larabee gave his full attention to the bounty hunter. "This isn't over," he warned.

"Better hurry," replied EJ., his tone mocking. "This town'll be having a first-class hanging in less than a week."

Larabee smiled wolfishly. "Have a nice day," he said, touching the brim of his black hat. He turned on his heel and strode out of the saloon. The others followed.

Buck paused beside Ezra as they stepped onto the boardwalk, saying in a low whisper, "I thought Chris told you to keep your sleeve gun."

Ezra gave him a look of hurt innocence and placed his fingers on his chest over his heart. "Surely, Mr. Wilmington, you cannot possibly think that was my only available weapon."

They gathered on the porch. Buck put an arm on Larabee's shoulder and said, "Any idea what we're gonna do now we're not welcome in town? I mean. I don't intend on sleeping out under the stars."

Larabee smiled. "I guess you're finally going to get a look at the ladies in Hog Town. You boys collect your guns, then head out there and get us a place to stay. I'm going to see Vin."

Larabee spun on his heel and strode toward the solidly built adobe jail.

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The hammering had begun again just after sunup. Tanner groaned as he shifted on the cot, trying to ignore the fact that the good townsfolk of Tascosa had decided to build the gallows outside his window. It probably didn't matter to them that it was hard enough to face death without all the added stage dressing. Better that death came quick and unexpected.

Tanner finally stood and paced around the small cell, thinking. He discovered he had a new-found sympathy for the men he had brought in in the past. Finally he grew tired of pacing. Sitting on the cot, he leaned against the cool adobe wall and pulled his hat down over his face.

After a while he heard the lock of an outer door click and the jangle of keys. A few moments later, he heard the tread of boots approaching. They stopped in front of the door to his cell. He heard a familiar voice ask, "How you doing?"

Tanner looked up. His eyes were red from lack of sleep, his face drawn. "I feel like a coyote in a trap," he said after a moment.

"And," Larabee prompted.

Tanner gave him a half-hearted smile and replied, "I think I'm too fond of my foot to part with it. Any suggestions?"

"Nothing at the moment," Larabee said, pulling up a stool next to the bars. He sat down and leaned back against the wall. He glanced down the hallway. The outer door remained open and he saw the toe of a boot opposite the door. He'd have been surprised if someone hadn't listened in on their conversation.

Tanner tossed his hat haphazardly onto the foot of the bed and asked, "How are the others?"

"They're holding together pretty well, but Buck's tom up about JD.," Larabee said thoughtfully.

"Tell Buck that Danny had an unfortunate accident, back at the grade in White Rock Canyon on the high trestle and he won't be killing anyone anymore." Tanner said evenly.

Larabee studied his friend. Tanner's words described Danny's death as a tragic accident, but the look in Tanner's eyes and his manner told Chris Danny's death was revenge satisfactorily done. Larabee nodded slightly. "I'll tell him."

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Chris Larabee stood in the comer of the telegraph office, waiting for an answer from Mary. It had been better than an hour. He was getting concerned and wondered if something had happened. His thoughts were interrupted as the telegraph key began to click arid the operator scribbled down the message.

After an exchange of clicks on the wire, the operator stood and looked at the darkly dressed stranger. "Here's your message."

Chris Larabee, Tascosa

Good news. JD. is not. I repeat NOT among the dead. 

He's been found. He's hurt badly but will live. 

Expect Mary to be there in two days.

Judge O. Travis

The deep lines on his face faded as he read. A genuine smile cracked the stern man's facade as he turned to walk out the door.

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Larabee walked down the narrow corridor that led to Tanner's cell. Each trip he made to visit his friend was harder and harder. They had a plan, a lame one, but it was better than nothing. He had been searched thoroughly, but their secret message wasn't discovered. The deputy had even thumbed through the deck of cards Ezra had sent along. The only thing that made this particular trip easier was he had good news for a change.

"Morning, Chris," Tanner said cheerfully.

If the setting had been different, he'd have thought Tanner was back to his old self. "Morning, Vin. They treating you okay?"

"As good as can be expected," he replied, standing to shake Chris's hand.

"I've got some good news for you."

"Good news, like maybe they've decided it's all a mistake and they're going to let me go?" Tanner said sarcastically.

"Not that good, I'm afraid," Larabee said, pulling up his stool. "JD.'s alive and healing. It seems Danny wasn't as good a shot as he thought he was."

Tanner leaned against the jail wall, relief spreading across his tired features. He took a slow deep breath and said, "That's good to hear. Really good."

Larabee reached into his breast pocket and withdrew the well-worn playing cards Ezra had sent. "A friend of yours said to tell you that if you play with a deck of cards long enough, you can tell the face cards by their weight."

Tanner's brow raised as he accepted the cards. He was sure there was something hidden in the message.

He had the time. He'd figure it out. "Tell him thanks."

"I will," Chris replied.

The two men talked intermittently and played cards between the bars. Sometimes they just sat in companionable silence. The afternoon passed into evening and Tanner's meal arrived. They talked quietly a while longer, then Chris was asked to leave for the evening by the sheriff. The two men shook hands, and Chris departed.

In the dim lamplight, Tanner played with Ezra's cards. It was a while before he discovered that the seven of spades was heavier than all the others. He looked the card over carefully and saw that it was actually two cards cleverly stuck together. Using his thumbnail Tanner carefully separated the cards.

He discovered the card he held was the ace of spades. Written on it in a tiny and delicate hand was an outline of the proposed rescue plans. At the bottom of the card, in the same hand, was the message. "You aren't going anywhere, my friend. You still owe me the interest on the three hundred dollars you borrowed."

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"I can't see why we have to go see Ida Mae Kincaid," Buck grumbled as he stepped up into the saddle. 

"And why, pray tell, is that, Mister Wilmington?" asked Ezra from atop of his own horse.

"I can't see how she'd be willing to help save the man who murdered her husband."

"Allegedly murdered her husband," Ezra said, giving Buck a scathing glare. He turned his horse in the direction of the Kincaid farm and started off at an easy trot.

Before the second hour was up, Buck and Ezra reached the top of the rise overlooking the small and weather-beaten Kincaid house. It was a pleasant homestead with a small barn and corral. A full day's wash hung on a line strung from the house to the corral gate.

"The lady of the house must be inside," Ezra commented as they reached the bottom of the gentle slope. "Could be," Buck said, smoothing back his hair and resettling his hat. "I wonder just how old she is?"

The duo never found out as the front door opened just wide enough to allow the passage of a blued double barrel shotgun. "Be off with you!" a creaky voice shouted, followed immediately by a blast from the gun that kicked dirt up just in front of their horses.

"Mrs. Kincaid, please..." But before Ezra could finish, a second blast from the gun interrupted him. His horse reared and fought his control. The gun quickly dropped from sight and was replaced by another one.

Buck calmed his horse long enough to get turned around, saying, "Ezra, I don't think we should be bothering the lady any more today."

"I concur," Ezra said. His horse's front hooves touched the ground. They both raced out of buckshot range and over the hill.

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Mary breathed a sigh of relief as the stage driver shouted, "Tascosa!" She looked over at her traveling companion. The spare and feisty Nettie Wells was seated on the opposite side of the coach, tatting the edge of a white shawl. She deftly tied off the section she had been working on and cut the thread. "Your hand work is so beautiful," Mary commented as she put her own needlepoint into her bag.

"Your handiwork is not shabby by any means, dear."

The coach pulled up in front of the Exchange Hotel, and the coach driver swung down to the ground. He promptly opened the door of the stage and extended a hand to the ladies. "After you," said Nettie, gathering her belongings. "These old bones take a moment to get moving after a long ride like this one."

Mary nodded and stood. Taking the driver's hand, she stepped onto the stair, then to the ground, her dark skirts swishing against her legs. Mary looked up and down the street, orienting herself.

Nettie handed her hand bag to the driver, who slipped the handle over his arm and held out both hands to her. She stood and reached out to take his hands, but he took her by the waist, picked her up, and swung her over to the porch of the hotel, saying, "A lovely young lady like you shouldn't walk."

Laughing, Nettie said to the beefy and rugged driver, "Oh, I'm no young lady, but I thank you for your illusions."

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Ezra couldn't contain a yawn as he made his way through the scattered tables of Hog Town's restaurant. He went directly to the table where Larabee and Buck were seated. The gambler sat down heavily, stifling another yawn.

"The things I do for Mr. Tanner," he moaned.

"Any luck?" asked Larabee.

"Terrible. I've been brutally assaulted twice in pursuit of..." Ezra paused and accepted a cup of coffee from the bored, plain-featured waitress. "Anyway, most of the ladies hereabouts are too... well-endowed for our needs." 

"Keep looking."

Buck looked from one man to the other. "What are you two up to?" he demanded.

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Mary paused in her unpacking at the knock on the hotel door. She glanced at Nettie, who picked up her handbag. Mary moved to the door and put her hand on the key. "Who is it?"

"It's Chris," replied a calm, familiar voice.

Mary turned the key and opened the door a few inches. "Chris," she said acknowledging his identity. "Mary," he said, tipping his hat. "Can I come in?"

She opened the door fully and let Larabee into the spacious room. "We just arrived an hour ago. We were going to look you up when we were settled in."

Larabee pushed his hat back to hand from its stampede strings, nodding a greeting to Nettie, who gave him an appraising once-over.

"I'd've thought you'd walk with a limp if you ever took that gun off," she said in greeting.

Mary gave the gunslinger a startled look -- she hadn't noticed the absence of his gunbelt. She briefly remembered him riding out of Four Corners rather than surrender his weapon during the short reign of Marshall Bryce.

Larabee shrugged. "Sheriff Willingham's not letting any guns in town until after the hanging."

Nettie smiled. "It's a good thing I left my old Spencer at home," she declared.

Larabee smiled. "Lady, I don't think you go anywhere unarmed."

She patted her hand bag. "Just because I'm not packing one on my hip doesn't mean I'm defenseless." 

"I couldn't convince her to leave it behind," Mary explained.

"Keep it out of sight. We may need it."

"How's Vin doing?" asked Nettie.

"Better since we arrived. And since we found out JD.'s alive." Larabee took the chair Mary offered him. "How is he?"

"He was getting stronger when we left. Nathan and my father-in-law are taking good care of him with Casey's help. Nettie and I felt we should come see if we could help."

"Seven hundred miles is a long ways to come just to offer help."

"You've done the same," she pointed out. "Twice now."

"We can use the help," he admitted finally. He rose and walked to the windows looking onto the plaza. "When we were here before, we found out the murdered man had a widow. Ida Mae Kincaid: No one sees her much anymore. Once a month. someone runs supplies out to her. That's about it"

"You think she may know something?"

"I don't know. We left town before we had a chance to talk to her."

"So you'd like us to go out and see her."

"I figure a woman might be able to get more answers. But be careful. She chased Buck and Ezra off with a shotgun two days ago."

Mary paled slightly. Nettie merely smiled and said,"I can't say as I blame her, running those two gentlemen off. Don't worry. We'll go talk to her first thing in the morning."

Larabee nodded and started for the door. "We've got rooms in Hog Town. It'd be best if you stayed away from there. It's no place for you." He stopped in the doorway and said, "One last thing you should know -- Vin's been framed for a second murder."

Ezra looked up from his lunch as Chris and Buck entered the restaurant. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said after tapping his lips with a crisp white napkin.

Chris tossed his hat on the table and pulled out one of the four rail-backed chairs. "Well?"

"As of yet, my quest goes unfulfilled."

"Then why are you sitting here?" Chris asked as he sat down.

Buck studied the others, puzzled by their cryptic conversation. He leaned against the table his hands out flat. "For the second time, I'd like to know just what kind a trouble you two are hatchin'."

Larabee scowled briefly at Buck before he turned his attention back to Ezra, who was carefully cutting a bite of steak. "I, sir, am waiting for the last of our candidates to arrive."

"Candidates?" Buck asked.

After carefully chewing his bite of steak and again patting his lips, Ezra smiled up at Buck, his gold tooth glinting in the afternoon sun. He was about to reply when the waitress arrived with two platters of steaming hot food. She carefully slid one plate down in front of Larabee and waited patiently for Buck to decide which chair-he was going to take. "Sir?" she asked quietly.

"I took the liberty of providing you with a bountiful lunch. Please enjoy the fine cuisine," Ezra told them. "It is likely that I will be unable to provide such again any time soon."

Buck pulled up a chair and sat heavily, hanging his hat off the back of the empty chair next to him. "Candidates?" he prompted as the slight waitress placed his plate before him.

"As I was saying," Ezra started to explain, then paused as if really seeing the slight-framed waitress for the first time. "Miss," he said, standing, "is it true there will be a cotillion this weekend?"

"Yes," she replied hesitantly.

Ezra took a step closer to her. "I am looking for a dance partner for said same and was wondering if you would do me the honors of a short spin around the dance floor?" He extended his hand to her, in a half bow.

She blushed, but obliged him. He swept her into his arms and spun her around. Ezra's opinion of the girl raised as she fell into step with him. She was a natural dancer. Finally he released her gently. "Will you come?"

"I can't. My father wouldn't allow it."

"Such a shame. I am heartbroken. Mayhaps I shall meet him and ask his permission, my lady."

The girl hurried off to the kitchen and Ezra returned to his seat. He picked up his napkin and laid it across his lap. He picked up his knife and fork as Buck asked, "And what was that all about?"

"Gentlemen," Ezra paused dramatically, "our search is at an end, I have just found our candidate."

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Mary drove the buggy along an overgrown road that followed a sparse trickle of water someone had told her was Comanche Creek toward the Kincaid farm. Nettie sat beside her, eying the flat, featureless country with displeasure.

"Have you been to Texas before, Nettie?" asked Mary.

"About fifteen years ago, when my husband and I first came West. Between the Kiowa, Comanches, and Comancheros, we didn't stay for long." She snorted. "I don't know what was worse, the Indians or the lack of trees."

Their conversation faded as the farm came into sight. The house was small and cozy-looking, though badly in need of a new roof. The porch sagged slightly and needed painting. A line of cottonwoods formed a windbreak for both the house and barn. Two draft horses grazed in a pasture beyond the barn, and a black and white cow stood by the fence gate, its mooing a lonely sound. Chickens scattered before them as Mary drove the buggy into the yard.

"Seems awfully quiet," said Nettie.

Mary had to agree. Laundry flapped noisily in the breeze. A wicker basket had blown part-way across the yard to rest against the well. A shirt had fallen from the line and another was hanging from a single clothes pin. Other than the flustered chickens, nothing stirred in the yard.

"Well, let's get this taken care of." Nettie stood up and stepped down from the buggy. She freed the tie rope from the harness and tied the horse to the hitching rail. Mary climbed down as well, straightening her skirt and pushing a stray lock of hair back into place. The two women crossed the yard and stepped onto the porch. Mary rapped her knuckles firmly on the door.

Absolute silence followed. Mary waited a long moment, then knocked again with more force. A tabby cat leapt onto the creaky porch, startling them. The cat stretched and moseyed over to throw itself against Mary's legs, purring loudly. Mary looked over at her companion, but the older woman was studying the yard and pastures.

"Maybe she's gone to a neighbor's," Mary began.

"Been a day, maybe two," Nettie mused as she stepped down off the porch to look around. "Mary," the older woman said softly, "Chris said that she never goes anywhere. Not even for supplies."

Mary joined Nettie on a quick survey of the property. They were returning from the barn when Nettie spotted the corner of a curtain poking through a hole in the window. She stepped up on the porch and noted the wood was covered with glass shards. Without hesitation she opened the door and stepped through.

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EJ. Thompson propped his booted feet on the porch rail and leaned back in his chair, unfolding the Tascosa Pioneer. The newspapers headlines were all about the upcoming hanging and a rehash of the murder and related events since then. The second page had a full story about the murdered man and his now-reclusive wife. There was nothing about her body being discovered.

That suited him just fine. Now no one would know he had murdered Tom Jones.

"You sent for me, boss?"

EJ. glanced to his left. The dual old black eyes above the misshapen lump of his broken nose gave Clyde a frightening appearance. He stood beside the porch, rolling a cigarette and appearing to have no other concerns.

EJ. turned a page of the newspaper. "The hanging's set for tomorrow," he said, not looking up. "I don't want anything interfering with it. Kill Mr. Tanner's friends."

Clyde expression didn't change. "With pleasure," he promised.

Thompson smiled as Clyde walked away. That suited him, too.

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Buck's boots thudded loudly on the hard-packed dirt floor as he strode toward the table near the back of the tent serving as Hog Town's one saloon. Larabee and the bored bartender were the only ones present. The bartender didn't even look up as Buck made his way to the black-dressed man's table. Larabee's expression was grim, and there wasn't much whiskey left in the bottle in front of him.

Buck pulled out an empty chair and spun it around so he could straddle it backwards. "You know, it's not too late to change our minds," he said. "I mean, we could always ride in, shoot everybody, and ride out again." 

Larabee's lips twitched in a smile. "Thought about it. But someone innocent could get hurt."

"Like Vin?"

Larabee pushed his full shot glass toward him. "You never were good at waiting. Have a drink."

Buck accepted the offering, tossing it down easily. He sighed in appreciation and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then continued his tirade.

"'Sides, Chris, you should have had me measuring those ladies for fit. It's something I'd'a enjoyed."

"You never would have made it past the first one." Larabee stood up. "I'm going to see Vin."

Buck followed him out of the tent into the afternoon sunlight. Larabee paused to light his cigar, turning slightly to protect the match from a stiff breeze. That move saved his life as a bullet tore into the tent inches from his head.

Larabee dove to one side, drawing his revolver and searching for the shooter. Buck flinched as a second bullet struck the tent near him. Larabee fired a quick shot toward a rifle barrel he saw protruding around the corner of the flat-roofed barn across the street. The weapon drew back hastily, but more shots were coming from elsewhere.

Buck located the second gunmn on the roof of the livery stable. "Chris!" he yelled, firing twice toward the barn. "There's' one on the roof!"

Larabee dove behind the dubious protection of the water trough. Buck was right beside him, snapping quick shots toward the barn. He quickly reloaded while Larabee gave cover fire.

"Nice little situation you got us into here, Chris."

Larabee's response was drowned out by more shots from their opponents. The bullets smacked into the side of the trough and the dirt around them. Larabee fired his last two shots, then began reloading. Buck aimed around the edge of the trough and fired again.

A gun boomed loudly behind them and to the left. Both men twisted around, bringing their guns to bear, just in time to see a man fall to the ground. The shotgun at his side proved his intentions hadn't been friendly. Josiah looked around the corner and winked.

A wild flurry of gunfire erupted from the barn area, none directed at the water trough. Larabee and Buck rose as Ezra emerged from the stable.

"We guessed you needed a hand," Ezra explained.

"You guessed right," said Buck.

Larabee walked purposefully to the man Josiah had shot and turned the body over with the toe of his boot. Josiah's bullet had struck the man just above the bridge of his badly broken nose. Larabee pulled the revolver from the man's belt and strode toward a horse tied nearby.

"Chris, where you going? Chris!"

Buck's question went unanswered as Larabee mounted the skittish horse and spurred it to a gallop. Josiah said, "I don't think I'd care to be in Mr. Thompson's shoes right now."

Buck turned toward the stable, 'We'd better make sure he doesn't get himself killed."

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Larabee brought his borrowed horse to a rump-scraping halt in front of the Equity Bar and dropped from the saddle, leaving the animal ground tied. He stalked through the batwing doors into the cool, dark interior. He pushed past the patrons until he reached Thompson.

"All right, you sent your boys after us, and they didn't get the job done," growled Larabee. He ignored the shuffle of the people hastily getting out of the way. "Now I'm calling you out."

Thompson carefully raised his hands. "I'm still not packing a gun."

"That's not gonna save you this time."

The bartender gestured at a man near the door. "Go get the sheriff."

"You move and I'll shoot you, too," warned Larabee. "He'll be here soon enough." He held up the revolver he had taken from the dead gunman, spun the cylinder, and fired a round into the floor. Then he tossed the weapon on the table in front of the killer. "There's your gun."

EJ. stared at the pistol, a .38 caliber Colt Ughtning. The weapon Clyde had preferred. Thompson licked suddenly dry lips as he stared into Larabee's hard eyes.

Larabee straightened. "You'd better be wearing a gun when you step out on the street, because I'm going to kill you whether you are or not."

He turned and strode toward the doors. He saw the alarm in the people near him and spun to one side, drawing his own revolver. Thompson's bullet tore through the sleeve of his duster. Larabee's two shots drove Thompson backwards.

Absolute silence followed the echo of the last shot. Larabee walked forward, his gun at the ready. Thompson lay tangled in the broken fragments of his chair. Blood soaked the front of his fancy shirt and bubbled from his mouth with each gasping breath.

"Now it's over," Larabee declared.

A sickly smile crossed Thompson's lips. "Not... yet..."


	4. Chapter 4

PART FOUR

Tanner stood on his bunk, peering out the window. The shots had come from the saloon a few doors away, of that he was certain. He also felt pretty sure his friends were involved. So far, there had only been the three shots.

A door down the hall opened, and Tanner sat down on the bunk again. Larabee was a welcome sight, but the presence of both deputies was not. They stood Larabee against the bars and searched him. Then one deputy opened the cell next to Tanner's and gestured for Larabee to enter. Larabee stepped into the cell. The deputy locked the door behind him, and the law officers left.

"Is this part of your plan?" asked Tanner.

Larabee turned to look at him. "It is now. You don't have to worry about EJ. Thompson any more."

"That's good to hear."

Tanner's tone was bitter, and his attention went back to the window. Larabee glanced out his own window, already knowing what held his friend's attention. He tossed his hat and duster on his own bunk and sat down heavily.

"Back when I was huntin' buffalo, I sometimes found myself thinkin' how nice it'd be to go home to a soft bed every night. Have a roof over my head instead of stars. "Tanner turned a haunted look on Larabee. "I'd give anything to sleep under the stars again."

"We're going to get you out of here, Vin." Larabee promised softly. "You have my word on it."

The hall door opened again, and Sheriff Willingham entered the cell area. He strode up to Larabee's cell. Both prisoners looked at him expectantly.

"It's too early to tell just yet, but the doc says we might just have a double hanging tomorrow," said the sheriff. "You want to tell me why you did it?"

"No." Larabee answered flatly.

"There were about ten people in the saloon. All of them say you called Thompson out."

"And they'll all tell you he drew first."

They had, indeed. They had also pointed out he had drawn on Larabee's back, but Willingham didn't let his expression reveal that.

"I've talked to the judge. We'll let you go after the hanging tomorrow. Just be out of town before sundown."

He didn't mention the alternative, merely turned and walked back to the main office.

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The cool evening air was filled with the sounds of celebration as Josiah walked down Tascosa's main street to the adobe jail. He grabbed hold of the doorknob and wasn't surprised to find the door locked on this, the night before the hanging. A voice from inside challenged him. Even though they couldn't see him, Josiah smiled benignly.

"Peace, brother," he called. "I've come to see your prisoner."

He heard the lock being turned and the bar across the door being withdrawn. The door opened a little bit and the yellowish light from inside spilled out onto the boardwalk. Josiah smiled down at the bearded deputy, completely unaffected by the shotgun he held level. The deputy sighed and moved out of the way, letting the big man enter.

"Don't know why you're wastin' your time on the likes 'a him, preacher," observed the other deputy, opening the desk drawer to retrieve the keys. "He won't appreciate any words you got for him."

Josiah's fingers tightened on his Bible. "No man should be without spiritual guidance before going to face final judgment," he said quietly.

"We gotta search you before we let you back there. Sheriff's orders for tonight."

"I understand."

Josiah spread his arms to the side, his expression one of peaceful supplication. The bearded deputy patted him down in a perfunctory manner, then flipped through the Bible. He paused at a place marked by a faded purple ribbon and scanned the passages there.

"Daniel in the lion's den?" he questioned.

Josiah paused only a moment. "Courage in the face of adversity," he explained, accepting the book again.

"Thank you, brother."

The tall, slender deputy led him down the hall to the cells. Larabee was seated on his bunk, flipping Ezra's cards at his hat with mixed success. Tanner was standing by his cell's small window, staring out at the starry sky. A faint evening breeze played enticingly through his beard. Larabee looked up at their entrance, but Tanner didn't stir.

"Brought you some company, Tanner," said the deputy.

Tanner didn't turn. "Brother Tanner," Josiah said a little louder than was necessary, "I've come to offer comfort for your soul on this dark night."

Only Larabee noticed the flicker of hope in Tanner's eyes as he turned toward Josiah. "Glad you came," he said, making no effort to hide his gratitude. He gestured toward the stool near the cell. "Have a seat."

Josiah looked at the deputy. "Leave us, please."

"I don't think—"

Josiah stepped closer to the deputy, increasing his menacing height. "A man has the right to make peace with God away from the ears of outsiders."

The deputy took an involuntary step backward. "All right, it's your funeral. But you give a yell if either one of 'em tries something."

Josiah smiled. "I am safe in the arms for the Lord."

The door shut behind the deputy. "Or the devil," said Larabee softly, as he stood to shake the preacher's hand. Josiah smiled a very wide and toothy grin.

"The Good Book can offer much comfort to a soul during trying times. It reminds us that both vengeance and forgiveness are the providence of the Lord. One must have courage and faith in the face of all hardships."

Josiah's voice rose as he emphasized each point. "Your salvation, Brother Tanner, is at hand!"

Tanner cast a sidelong, what-the-hell-is-he-up-to look at Larabee. Chris only glanced at the door, which was not fully closed.

"The key to your salvation is faith, Brother Tanner, faith that there is a greater plan for you. If you have faith, your salvation stands before you!" He moved closer to the bars, fixing Tanner with his pale blue eyes. "Do you believe?"

Unsure what else to do, Tanner just nodded. The hall door closed with a quiet dick. Josiah smiled.

"Then let your salvation begin. I am going to begin with the story of Daniel in the Lion's Den," Josiah said firmlv as he began to unbutton his shirt.

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Ezra signed and stared at Hog Town's tent saloon, absently noting the scores of newly repaired bullet holes in the walls. He had tried all seven of Tascosa's more sturdily built establishments with no success. He glanced back at Buck, who was securing his horse, then walked into the saloon. There were several dozen men inside, filling the chairs and limited floor space.

After a moment he spotted his quarry. He recognized the tall, gaunt man from a picture he had seen in a paper some months ago of Frank Calhoun hanging his thirteenth victim. The older man wore a simple black suit and had a shot of whiskey in front of him. In spite of the crowd, he had the table all to himself.

Ezra paused at the bar and ordered a bottle. He poured himself a shot and looked around. Finally he started for the table. "It would seem the overwhelming popularity of this event has made seating scarce. May I join you?" he asked indicating the one open chair with the hand holding the bottle.

"Suit yer'self."

Ezra sat and tossed down his drink. "I don't envy the man who has to pull the lever at today's event." Calhoun finished his own drink. "Anyone can do it if they've had enough stiff belts."

Both men looked up at a commotion at the bar. Ezra took advantage of Buck's loud and animated entrance to slip a small packet from his jacket and to pour the contents into Calhoun's glass. As the hangman turned back,

Ezra hastily splashed whiskey into the glass. "Let me buy you another drink."

"Thanks, friend."

Buck leaned casually against the bar and sipped his beer, watching Ezra make small talkwith Calhoun. The gambler met his gaze briefly, and Buck mouthed the words, "Hurry up."

Ezra ignored him. Calhoun finished his doctored drink and staggered to his feet, swaying drunkenly.

"Must've had too much whiskey," he said, his words thick and slurred. "Gotta get rid of some..."

He took an awkward step and would have fallen if Ezra hadn't caught him. "Let me help you, friend. I feel partially responsible for your state of inebriation." Calhoun nodded his thanks, though he didn't fully understand the words. Ezra helped him outside.

Buck hastily finished his beer and left shortly after they did. He reached the pair just as Calhoun collapsed, and he helped Ezra pull the unconscious hangman upright. You sure this'll keep him out of the way until after the hanging?"

Ezra smiled. "Believe me, Mr. Wilmington, the powder I used will put him to sleep for at least eight hours. And I assume you've arranged for a distraction after that?"

"You got that right. Seems Fionna likes him anyway. She's got a nice, comfy bed all ready for him."

"It's a pleasure to find someone who truly enjoys their work."

The two men half-carried Calhoun toward one of the run-down cabins.

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Larabee pushed the food on his plate around with his spoon, not really interested in it. He had to admit it was a hearty meal, probably the best Tascosa could offer a condemned man for breakfast.

Tanner's meal sat untouched on the foot of his bunk. Few words had passed between the men since sunrise. The hunter stared out the window at the completed gallows and the gathering crowd.

"Looks and sounds more like a circus than a legal lynching," he said, quietly. "I'm glad JD. isn't going to be here to see it."

The hall door opened. Larabee moved to the front of his cell as Willingham and both deputies walked into the area. The attentive deputies carried shotguns. The sheriff unlocked Tanner's cell and stepped inside.

"It's time, son."

Tanner let out a shaky sigh. "Yeah. I guess it is." He stepped to the bars between his cell and Larabee's.

"It's been a good ride, Chris," he said extending his hand.

Larabee caught it in a firm grip. "Take care, Vin. I'll be watching."

Tanner's eyes closed tightly for a moment as he turned away from his friend. The sheriff secured his hands behind him with rope and led him from the cell.

Vin stepped out of the back door and paused, letting his eyes adjust to the morning sunshine. He ignored the crowd, letting his gaze go to the fluffy white clouds riding across a pale blue sky. One of the deputies put a hand on his shoulder.

Tanner looked back at the man. "Just give me a minute," he said, his tone not quite a plea. "I ain't gonna be seeing it again."

The deputy's hand dropped away. Tanner took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders slightly, and walked down the stairs. The gathered crowd parted, leaving a clear path to the gallows. The festivities in the background died away as he slowly walked closer. Soon the only sounds that could be heard were people shifting in nervous anticipation and the cry of a small child.

Tanner paused twenty feet from the gallows, searching the crowd for familiar faces. Josiah's solemn face looked down at him from the platform where he had promised he would be. He couldn't see any of the others, though. The deputy's hand came up to push Tanner along. Tanner stumbled forward another few feet. Then he saw Nettie Wells.

"Sheriff," Tanner called hoarsely. "Hold up a minute."

Willingham turned around. "What is it?"

"Hurry it up!" someone in the crowd shouted. "I got things to do!"

The sheriff looked out over the crowd in the direction of the voice. He finally spotted the speaker. He whistled to one of the special deputies he had brought in for the hanging. "Jake Haskins! You just earned yourself fourteen days."

A murmur passed through the crowd as they turned to see what was happening. There wasn't much of a struggle as the cowboy was taken into custody.

Willingham turned to Tanner. The former bounty hunter said, "You see that gray-haired lady in the white shirt and blue riding skirt? That's my aunt. My sole surviving kin," he lied. "I want to talk to her."

Willingham nodded and led the condemned man to the elderly woman. Tanner dropped to one knee so she wouldn't have to look up at him. Nettie Wells placed her hands lovingly on each side of his bearded face and kissed his forehead. Her eyes were alight as she smiled and said, "Good to see you, son."

"It's good to see you too, Nettie," he said, feeling like he'd just been gut-shot. "I'm just sorry it had to be now."

"Son, I come and go as I please. You know that. Besides, I wouldn't miss this for the world." Somehow Tanner managed a smile of appreciation for the old woman's spunk. Nettie hugged him tightly. "Your mother'd be proud," she said finally.

Willingham put a hand on Tanner's shoulder, and Nettie reluctantly let him go. Tanner nodded briefly to Mary Travis, standing nearby with tears in her eyes. Then he turned and started up the steps to the gallows.

"Keep your head up," Nettie called. "You're a Tanner. And I'm proud of you."

Tanner reached the platform. The hangman was well-dressed for the occasion, in a black suit with tails and a frilly white shirt that the wearer kept adjusting in a way that was almost familiar. A black hood hid his features. Josiah was reading passages out of a worn Bible, words Tanner supposed some might find comforting. Willingham raised his hand to silence the murmur that had started again.

"'Vin Tanner, you have been found guilty of the murders of Jess Kincaid and Tom Jones. By the power vested in me, you are hereby condemned to hang by the neck until dead on this, the fifteenth day of September, 1875,'" he read from a piece of paper. He folded it and looked at the prisoner. "Any last words?"

Tanner looked silently skyward. _Lord, I hope you know what you're doing here._ He shook his head. "Let's just get this over with."

Willingham nodded briefly, then positioned Tanner on the trapdoor and tied his feet with a leather strap. He left the platform. Josiah stepped closer and asked, "Do you want anything?"

Tanner's expression was sardonic. "That's a silly question."

Josiah put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Keep the faith, Brother Tanner, and I'll see you on the other side."

The big man descended the steps. Tanner stared toward the jail, where he could see Larabee peering out the window. Buck was standing nearby. The tracker flinched slightly as the hangman slipped the noose over his head and tightened it slightly.

"Don't think you're getting away from me so easily, Mr. Tanner," Ezra said, his voice muffled by the hood. "I do not intend on collecting said interest you owe from your paltry estate."

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Larabee watched the gathering crowd outside the window. His stomach did a slow roll as Vin stepped out the back door of the jail. He paused on the steps, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the bright day. The former bounty hunter looked up briefly at the fluffy white clouds riding across a pale blue sky that matched his shirt. The sheriff's deputy put a hand on Tanner's shoulder.

Tanner looked back at the man and said something. The man's hand dropped away. Tanner took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders slightly and walked down the stairs. The gathered crowd parted leaving a clear path to the gallows. The festivities in the background died away as he slowly walked closer. Soon the only sounds that could be heard were people shifting uncomfortably in the growing heat of the day and the cry of a small child.

Larabee's eyes narrowed as he watched. Tanner paused about twenty feet from the gallows. The deputy's hand came up to push Tanner along as he drew his weapon. Tanner turned slightly and spoke to the deputy, who shook his head. A moment later the sheriff pushed through the crowd to Tanner's side. The doomed man leaned forward and whispered in the sheriff's ear.

Someone in the crowd shouted, "Hurry up I got things to do!"

The sheriff looked out over the crowd in the direction of the voice. He finally spotted the speaker. He whistled sharply to someone Larabee couldn't see. "Jake Haskins! You just earned yourself fourteen days!" A murmur passed through the crowd as they turned to see what was happening. There wasn't much of a struggle as Jake was taken into custody.

Tanner spoke with the sheriff a moment longer. He finally nodded and took over as escort to the gallows steps. Tanner stopped before a slender grey-haired lady who stood a full head shorter than himself. He knelt down on one knee so that she wouldn't have to look up at him. She held him close for a long moment before he stood and faced the gallows. Tanner walked calmly up the stairs. It was a few minutes more before the condemned man and the hangman stood alone on the platform.

Hearing footsteps in the corridor, Larabee turned and saw Haskins being escorted into the cell previously occupied by Tanner. He couldn't believe the audacity of the newcomer as he sat on the bunk and began to eat Tanner's untouched meal. "I wouldn't eat that if I were you," Larabee said coolly. Haskins looked up momentarily and, being a completely practical man, resumed eating.

Inwardly sickened, Larabee turned and rested his head against the bars, his jaws clenched as he held tight onto the window's bars. The shadow of a cloud paused on the gallows platform as the handle was pulled. He blinked as Tanner fell. Over the silent crowd he heard the sharp crack of bone breaking.

He dropped heavily to the bunk and put his head in his hands. He couldn't believe their plan had failed; that Tanner had gone to his death believing their plan would save him at the last moment. They had tested the rig. It had held up easily. Larabee's stomach knotted. He grabbed the unused spittoon and was sick.

Haskins slammed the coffee cup back down on the tray. "Hell, now I've lost my appetite," he complained. Larabee looked up. An evil twinkle appeared momentarily in his eyes. He launched the contents of the spittoon into the other cell. Dead on target.

Hearing screams and shouts of people outside the jail over Haskins caustic swearing, Larabee stood to look out the window. He could see several women had swooned and a buckboard was coming down the road in a great hurry. The dapple brown horses were heavily lathered. The wagon slewed to a stop and one of the two passengers jumped from the wagon before it came to rest. He was quickly followed by a dark-skinned man.

Larabee's eyes were drawn back to the platform where the hangman stood. His head was bowed. As if the hangman knew Larabee was watching, he looked up and shook his head slowly.

"No!" someone shouted. Horrified, Larabee recognized JD. as he stumbled toward the gallows shouting 'no!' repeatedly, tears streaming down his face. Chris was heart-sick. This was the one thing Vin didn't want JD. to see.

A tall figure parted from the crowd to intercept JD.'s flight before he could get close. Larabee was pretty sure it was Buck. JD. beat on the man, shouting, "How could you let this happen? He was innocent! He was framed!"

A moment later Nathan arrived as Mary and Nettie also went to Buck's aid. JD. saw them and collapsed, overcome by grief and exhaustion. Nathan helped carry JD. back to the buckboard. The driver, Judge Travis, stepped over the seat and helped lift JD. over the side.

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The sheriff posted two beefy deputies near the gallows to prevent someone from messing with the body. Ezra didn't stand his lonely vigil long. Josiah joined him shortly after the crowd departed. Ezra took the opportunity to disappear into the hotel to change out of his black suit.

Ezra returned as a stiff wind began to blow, making the rope creak. He buttoned his red jacket as he walked. The deputies stopped him from approaching closer than twenty feet. Checking his watch, he saw it had been about an hour since the hanging: Josiah joined him in the street, holding a battered Bible in his hand. It wouldn't be long now before the sheriff returned to finish the ritual.

Josiah turned as the back door of the jail opened and the sheriff stepped out. He walked down the stairs and approached the gallows. "The next of kin may claim the body, at the top of the hour," he told his men.

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The guards watched as a wagon carrying a coffin made its way slowly down the street. One checked his watch. It was straight up noon. "Right on time," he said.

The other turned his head to a strange angle, cracking his stiffened neck and grunted. "Surprised anyone would be willing to claim the carcass of a murderer."

"Look on the bright side. Now you don't have to spend the afternoon digging a hole to plant him in."

The gray-haired woman who drove the wagon pulled the team to a gentle stop and set the brake with practiced ease. She stood and one of the guards stepped forward to give her help down. "Can we give you a hand?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the body.

Nettie looked at Tanner and took a deep breath. Tears shone in her eyes as she shook her head. From behind her, she heard Buck."Ma'am?"

"These gentlemen have agreed to help me," she said, indicating Buck and Nathan who had come to stand just behind her. "'but thank you for your kind offer."

"Ma'am," the guard replied, tipping his hat. The two wandered off toward the saloon as Buck climbed the seven stairs to the top of the platform. He drew out his shaving-sharp Bowie knife and reached for the rope, his grip on the rope bringing the gentle swing of the body to a stop. He waited until Josiah and Nathan had climbed underneath the gallows, then cut the rope, letting Vin's body fall into their waiting arms.

Ezra and Nettie slid the coffin off the end of the wagon, where it stood resting against the wagon waiting for its occupant. The four men didn't speak as they carefully maneuvered Tanner's body out from under the gallows. Buck and Josiah held the body gently as Nathan severed the ropes that secured Tanner's hands behind his back.

They lifted Tanner and eased him into the waiting coffin. Nathan untied his feet, then gently loosened the noose and removed it. He heard a commotion coming up the street as he placed a pair of silver dollars over Tanner's eyes. He looked and saw a photographer. The others had spotted him as well.

"Vulture, what do you want here?" Nettie asked, her hands on her hips.

"Just a photo, ma'am, proof of the hanging for the governor's records."

"If you must, but hurry up. I have things to do before I can properly bury my kin."

The small man hurried and set up the tripod. He placed the camera box on top of the platform and secured it with the screw. He pulled the black drape over his head and quickly aimed the camera. He covered the lens and placed the photographic plate in the side of the box. He pulled a thin sheet of black material out of the camera, then removed the lens cover. He counted slowly to ten and replaced the lens cap.

Nettie stepped between the camera and the coffin, her hands on her hips. "Now leave us to mourn in peace." With a tip of his hat the photographer gathered his equipment and hastily departed.

Before Nettie could return to the task at hand, she heard a quiet "Ahem" behind her. She turned to face a small, narrow eyed, weasel of a man in a black suit and top hat. He removed his hat allowing the black ribbons tied neatly around the band to touch the ground, as he asked, "May I be of service to you and your loved ones?"

Nettie took a deep breath and shouted at the undertaker, "You get out of here too! You're worse than all of them! I don't want you anywhere near him!" The small man took a step back as he tried to placate the obviously distraught woman, but she didn't let him get a word in. "I'll see to the burial myself. Good day!" She turned her back on the man and returned to the wagon.


	5. Chapter 5

EPILOGUE

It was a stroke of luck that J. D. had managed to slip out of the hotel room unnoticed. The judge and Mrs. Travis had practically smothered him with kindness and concern. All he wanted was to talk to the one man who promised this terrible thing wouldn't happen. Chris Larabee.

JD. had waited patiently out of sight until he saw Larabee mount up and ride toward the cemetery. His anger gave him the strength to board a nearby bay and follow his quarry up the low rise. Larabee stopped at the gate then walked over to the fresh grave of their mutual friend Vin Tanner. The man in black turned as JD. stepped up beside him and met JD.'s fist with his chin. He stepped back, his reaction to the blow more from surprise than from the weak impact.

"How could you let this happen?" JD. shouted at the top of his lungs. "Vin was your best friend! He trusted you!" Larabee reached out to JD. when he saw how pale he had become. "Don't touch me!" JD. shook off his hand and wiped angrily at the tears that fell onto his cheeks.

Larabee's eyes were misty when he said softly, "There wasn't anything more I could do. Miracles just aren't in my bag of tricks, JD. What more could I have done?"

"More," JD. repeated softly as his knees gave way. Larabee caught him and gently settled the young man on the ground beside the grave. There was a wagon coming out from town in a great hurry. Larabee looked and saw Mary and the judge on the seat of the buck board. He blinked as a breeze tossed the dust into his eyes.

The wagon pulled to a stop a minute later. Mary hopped down from the wagon and Larabee stepped out of her way as she rushed to the boy's side. "JD.?" she said, softly, coaxing him to wakeup. "Come on, JD. Wake up."

Larabee watched the judge step down from the wagon. Judge Travis stepped forward and asked, "What happened, son?"

"He said... that I didn't do enough to keep Vin from hanging, but," Larabee paused. His gaze dropped to the grave marker. "It was the only way I could figure to save his life. Everything was tested. That modified corset took my weight easily. The hooks that were sewn to the corset should have held. Ezra knew how to hook up the noose." Larabee looked skyward, his features drawn. "I just don't understand."

Judge Travis placed his hand on the distraught gunslinger's shoulder. "Don't blame yourself for JD.'s. disappointment. With all that's happened no one has had a chance to tell him about the plan, and –"

Before the judge could continue Larabee broke in. "It shouldn't have happened at all. Thompson shouldn't have been allowed to get close enough to do what he did. Especially after the trouble he caused earlier this year." A soft groan stopped Larabee's tirade.

He knelt at JD.'s side. Some of the boy's color-had returned and his eyes were open. A nicker brought Larabee's attention back in the direction of town. He could see five riders approaching. He soon recognized his four remaining friends and Nettie Wells.

Larabee stood and whistled shrilly. "Nathan, get over here!"

The black healer picked up his pace only a moment before the others. He dismounted looping the reins of his horse over the rickety fence rail. Seeing JD. on the ground, he grabbed his saddle bags. Nathan took his place beside Mary and quickly began checking on the boy.

Mary stood and looked at Larabee. "You're only human, Chris. Don't blame yourself for—"

What she was about to say was interrupted by the anxious questions leveled at the group concerning JD.'s condition and what had happened. It took a few minutes before Nathan helped JD. to sit up. "He's gonna be fine," Nathan said reassuringly.

Larabee stood rooted to the spot as Josiah and Buck helped JD. to his feet and over to the wagon. Soon JD. rested propped up against the side rail. He watched as they talked quietly to the boy. He noticed a lone rider coming out from town. The man was dressed head to toe in black and wore no gun. The collar of his plain white shirt lay neatly over the button-down coat. A pair of small spectacles reflected the evening sun from beneath a black, shallow-crowned hat with a wide, flat brim. His hair appeared short except for two locks of long caramel-colored hair that framed the man's clean-shaven face.

When he spotted the book clutched in the man's hand, he turned away. "Damned Bible thumper," Chris muttered as he tumed back to Tanner's grave. It was bad enough when Josiah decided to fill his ears with platitudes. He didn't think he could tolerate that from a stranger. Lost in his own thoughts Chris didn't see the tall preacher rein in his buckskin horse next to the others.

Mary watched the tall man with a slight smile on her lips. He greeted each of the men with a firm handshake and a clap on the back, except for JD. who got a hug and had his hat pulled down over his ears. The man's reception didn't penetrate the shell Larabee had erected around himself. Mary wondered briefly what Chris would say when he met the preacher.

The preacher left the Bible on the tail of the wagon and turned to Nettie Wells. He held both of her hands. Judging from his posture, Mary could hear him saying something like flaw shucks, ma'am".

After a moment he walked through the cemetery gate and shook hands with the judge. He tipped his hat to Mary. She smiled fully reaching out to touch Larabee's sleeve. "Chris," she said, getting his attention the second time. "I really think you should talk to this man."

He glowered at Mary before he snarled, "And just what could this man have to say that I would want to hear?" Larabee gestured halfheartedly in the general direction of the stranger.

A comfortingly familiar voice from just behind his left shoulder said, "How about I'm not dead yet?"

Larabee's eyes widened as he turned to face Vin Tanner. Larabee stood frozen for a moment, his expression rapidly changing from anger to disbelief and back again. Tanner had no time to react before Larabee's fist connected solidly with his jaw.

Tanner looked up at Larabee from the ground, rubbing his chin. There was a mischievous grin in his eyes as he asked, "And just whose idea was this anyway?" Buck handed Tanner his fallen hat and helped him to his feet. Tanner wrapped his pony-tail up and stuffed it under the hat as he resettled it. "Feel better?" he asked, taking half a step back.

"No," Larabee said as he turned to the judge. "Why didn't you tell me he was still alive?"

"I tried but you weren't in the mood to hear what I had to say."

Chris looked at Mary. She shrugged. "You wouldn't listen, and we couldn't find JD. to tell him because he slipped out while we were making Mr. Tanner's final arrangements."

"Everyone else knew?" Larabee questioned.

"Not until well after we reached the undertaker's establishment," Ezra added, handing Larabee his flask. Larabee took a deep swig from Ezra's flask. Handing it back, he got a strange look on his face, then asked, "What broke if it wasn't your neck?"

Tanner handed him two long, thin pieces of broken bone. "Corset stays," he said with a smile. "You ready to go?"

Larabee stared out across the flat, desolate, Texas landscape. "It's not right leaving this here."

"Not much choice. It's a long ways back to Four Corners."

"Was it worth it?"

"Hard to say."

Larabee turned to Tanner, a wolfish grin on his face. "Well, maybe we'd better get out of here before someone finds out vou ain't dead."

As they headed for the horses, Vin pulled Ezra aside as they walked. - "Did you send my regrets to the lady for the excess wear and tear on her garment?" he asked the gambler.

"You know I couldn't do that and keep the illusion we have created. Never fear," Ezra said, seeing the look on Vin's face. "As the hooks could not be easily removed, nor the stays replaced, I have seen to it the young lady will not be found lacking." Ezra grinned widely, allowing the sun to glint off his gold tooth.

"Thank you."

"It was my pleasure," Ezra said, taking up the reins of his horse.

Tanner put a hand on Ezra's arm. When the man turned, Vin said seriously, "No. Thank you."

Ezra was touched by Vin's statement and took it deep into his heart. His gambler's facade only allowed the faintest flicker of emotion as he tipped his hat in the ex-bounty hunter's direction.

Larabee mounted his horse then wheeled it around to face Tanner as he settled into the saddle of the rented animal.

"I see the need for disguise, but why that?"

"Who'd suspect? Besides," Tanner gingerly fingered his throat, "We had to do something to hide the bruises."

Larabee smiled and turned his horse. He rode a short distance, then stopped. After a moment, the others joined him. Buck, Josiah and Ezra stopped on his right. Tanner, Nathan, and the buckboard carrying JD., Nettie and the Travis's came up on his right. Larabee's smile broadened and they continued together.

They hadn't ridden half a mile when Tanner pulled his hat off, hanging it from the saddle horn. He untied the thong holding his pony tail and tossed it aside, shaking his hair so it flowed free in the breeze. The leather strip hadn't hit the ground before his fingers began working on the starched white collar. With a satisfied smile, Tanner sent the collar whipping out into the prairie grass.

He took a deep breath and undid the buttons on his coat. A moment later Josiah came up fast from behind, a huge grin on his face. "Brother Tanner," he said as he drew even with Vin, "you appear to be coming apart at the seams."

Josiah's pale eyes twinkled merrily as he twirled the stiffly starched collar on his finger. Tanner shot him a dark look. He shrugged out of the coat and threw it at Josiah. The others started to laugh as Tanner undid several buttons on his shirt. Then he began working on the cuffs of his shirt and pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. Still grinning, Josiah flipped the collar aside.

THE END

Jessie my friend it was a good ride and you are sorely missed.


End file.
